Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

"I'd try three or four times a day for the next three days."

"You can't be fuckin' serious."

"_Language_, Dixon," the school nurse scoffed, "And yes, I'm entirely serious. Assuming you do want to be able to have children some day."

"Can't fuckin' believe this," he muttered, and with his good hand, he pressed his fingertips gently to the edge of his cheekbone and winced at the dull throb of pain. The black eye would be showing by the time he left for home, that much he knew.

"Language!"

"Alright, alright, just explain it to me one more time," Daryl mumbled.

"You suffered a very serious blow to the testicles."

"Yeah I remember that part."

"And it resulted in significant inflammation. Now, in order to prevent any blockage in the Vas Deferens, which could lead to infection, you'll need to…_purge_ your testes of semen several times a day until the swelling goes down."

"And what happens if I don't?"

"In the long term? It could do permanent damage. You'd eventually need surgery, a few days in the hospital. Potentially wouldn't be able to have children. In the short term, the longer you go without _coping_ with the problem, the more painful it will get. You'll know good and well when a purge is…necessary, so to speak."

"Great, just fuckin' great." _Of course_, it was his left hand that was fucked. The one he used to write and to load his bow and to jerk…

"Dixon!"

"Jesus woman, alright! Just write me a note so I can get back to class."

She filled out a hall pass and handed it to the boy. "Here you go. Now take care of yourself, and let me know if the pain gets any worse. And Dixon, prostate stimulation would probably work best."

Daryl didn't bother to ask what the hell that was before he was out the door with a huff.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

_Fucking Shane Walsh_. This was all his goddamn fault.

The stupid prick just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"_Hey Dixon, how's it you keep that piece of shit truck of yours running?"_

_"__Hey Dixon, you own any shirts with sleeves on 'em?"_

_"__That's a nice limp, you got going, man. You get fucked up the ass last night, or was it just another run in with your Daddy?"_

Daryl hardly remembered making the decision to strike, but he knew good and well that _that_ was the line that did. Shane had pushed him too goddamn far. And the fucker had fought dirty to top it all off. Crushing his left hand with the heel of his boot, kicking him in the nuts like a fucking pussy.

At that point, he hadn't even felt the blows to his middle, though he was pretty sure now that a few of his ribs were broken. He'd managed to hide that little fact from the nurse, desperate to just get the fuck out of there to tend to his broken ego. At least Daryl could be content that he'd gotten in a few serious licks of his own. Shane would be feeling it for days, and the black eye and cut across his cheek wouldn't fade for weeks.

That fucker always provoked him. Ever since they were kids, just into middle school, Shane would prod and jab until Daryl snapped. He seemed to take some kind of sick pleasure in it, pushing Daryl until he couldn't help but get physical.

Daryl was musing over whether he might get away with cutting the brake lines in Shane's Chevy when he spotted the Devil himself leaning up against Daryl's beloved truck. _Waiting for him._

"_The fuck_, Shane, you wanna go again?" Daryl growled, already throwing his backpack into the bed of the truck and baring down to draw.

"Woah, woah, woah, Dixon just calm down alright? I ain't here for that," Shane immediately said, seeming relatively sincere.

"Then get your bitch ass hands off my truck, and fuck off to wherever you came from," Daryl ground out, stepping closer and squaring off his shoulders.

"Look, I will, in a second, but…I just wanted to _apologize_, alright?"

Daryl backed up an inch, startled. "Why?"

"'Cuz I fucked up, man, I never shoulda…never shoulda started that shit. Shouldn't have been always starting that shit with you, and especially not today."

"Yeah, and why's today so damn special?"

Shane's eyebrows furrowed together. "We were friends when we were kids. You forgettin' I used to live around the block from you? I know what day it is, man."

Daryl's eyes darted away from him, eyes burning. Not a lot of people remembered the day his house burned down, or who had burnt up with it, but it figured that the asshole Daryl hated most would want to bring it up after beating the shit out of him. "Don't want your fuckin' pity. Think I preferred ya when you hated me, Walsh."

Shane looked taken aback, "Man, I never hated you. Never have, it's just…I'm an asshole. Know I am. Been workin' through some shit, and…yeah, takin' it out on you, I guess. But you don't deserve that shit. I mean, when we were goin' at in the yard, I had this moment where I looked at ya, and I like, woke up, ya know? Think it was the first fuckin' time I've ever thought about what I was doin' as I was doin' it. I don't wanna be this guy anymore."

"Well glad I could help ya with that fuckin' epiphany," Daryl grumbled, "Now get off my truck and leave me be."

Shane began to move away from the door, then hesitated. "What if I brought over some beer tonight?"

Now that wasn't what Daryl had expected. "Huh?"

"Some beer. We can watch the game or some shit. Least I can do."

"If I say yes, will you get off my fuckin' truck?"

Shane appeared to think for a moment, before he nodded.

"Then fuckin' fine! Now piss off already," Daryl snarled. Shane flashed him a brilliant smile before jogging back to the other end of the lot where his car was parked.

"I'll be there 'round seven!" Shane called behind him.

Daryl slid into his car and stared at the wheel for a beat. _What the fuck did I just agree to?_

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Things were tense from the moment Shane walked through his front door. His Dad was off on some bender, and Merle was in jail again, but Daryl thanked Christ for that because if either of them had come home to see Shane in the house, they might have beaten the both of them just for kicks. Daryl tried to tell himself that the anxiety was just about having Shane around, that he didn't trust the guy. But if he was being honest with himself, the problem stemmed a little further south.

His balls were aching, cock half-hard for no fuckin' reason at all. And even after he downed his first beer, the pain stuck around, dull and steady but never abating.

Three beers more and Daryl was buzzed plenty, but the pain was only getting worse. He squirmed back and forth on the couch, pretending to be absorbed with whatever game Shane had flicked on to pass the time. They'd hardly spoken at all, aside from Shane's intermittent comments about this player or that. Daryl pawed at his crotch as subtly as possible, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Hey man, you okay?" Shane suddenly asked.

Daryl's ears lit up like a Christmas tree. "M'fine."

"Uh-huh," Shane replied after a beat, "Don't look it though. You hurting?"

"S'nothin' Shane."

"Don't look like nothin'. What did the nurse tell you?"

"Said my hand would be healed up in a couple weeks. Sprained. Black eye would be gone sooner than that. Nothin' I ain't heard before."

Shane nodded, "And what about the other thing?"

"What _about_ it?" Daryl growled.

Shane looked down to his lap, managing to look believably contrite, though Daryl remained skeptical. "Kicked you pretty hard. Know I did. Just…wanted to make sure you're alright. You're sure the nurse didn't say anything about it?"

Daryl let out a long, disgruntled sigh. "She said if I wanted to have kids, I've gotta…beat it five times a day for the next three days, or some shit. She was probably fuckin' with me anyways."

Shane's eyes went wide. "Man, I don't think she woulda lied about that. You've just been ignoring it?"

"I'm fine," Daryl insisted.

"No, you ain't, man. You haven't done it once since this morning?"

Daryl glared hard at him, cheeks red with embarrassment. "No, I haven't, _Shane._ I was at school and then the asshole who caused this bullshit problem insisted on invitin' himself over for the evening."

Shane eyed him appraisingly. "Well, go take care of it, man. The game can wait."

With eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open, Daryl managed to look properly horrified by the suggestion.

"I'm serious," Shane continued, "Can't have your nuts fallin' off 'cuz you were too busy trying to be a good host."

Daryl snorted at that, then got up off the couch with a sigh and headed towards the back of the house.

"You want some help?" Shane called as Daryl went to leave the room, and the archer frowned at how sincere the offer came out sounding. No tease or mockery in sight.

"Fuck off," was all Daryl could manage to mutter in response, before locking himself in the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, and Shane was pacing across the living room, downing his fifth beer and trying not to think too hard about what was happening behind closed doors. Fifteen and Shane just figured, _fuck it._ He stormed the few yards to the bathroom door and rapped on it hard.

A second later, Daryl opened the door a crack, still in the process of tucking himself back into his jeans. Only problem was, he was still plenty hard, and noticeably so.

"What do you want?" Daryl sighed, feeling uncomfortable and frustrated and mostly just tired.

"Seriously, nothin'?" Shane asked incredulously.

Daryl huffed out a groan through his teeth. "Well ya fuckin' crushed the hand I usually use to do it. Can't get the grip right, and my abs hurt too bad to…whatever. Figure I wouldn't be too great a dad anyways." Daryl went to head back towards the living room, but Shane pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him.

"Wha-?"

Shane pressed hard at both of Daryl's shoulders, forcing him back into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him.

Daryl's defenses immediately went up, and he shoved Shane hard, ignoring the wicked sting from his middle at the sudden movement. "What the fuck, Shane?" he hissed.

Shane raised his hands in mock surrender. "Look man, you can't just ignore the shit the nurse said. You'll end up in the fucking hospital."

"Yeah well, if you wanna pay for a hooker, then I'm all in," Daryl spat.

Shane smirked at him, "Got somethin' better than a hooker." And with that, he took a step closer to the skittish archer and reached for his belt.

"The fuck?" Daryl breathed, moving as far back against the sink as the small space would allow and freezing under Shane's heated gaze.

"I'm not fucking around with you, Daryl, not about this," Shane promised him.

And because it was the first time in years he'd heard Shane use his real name, Daryl briefly allowed himself to believe him. "You're…not?"

Shane gave him a heartbreakingly tender smile. "No, man. I'd never do that. I just want to do this for you."

Daryl was biting at his lip, and trying not to think about the heated pain radiating from his groin. He tried even harder not to acknowledge how fucking _hard_ he'd gotten since Shane began to advance on him. "Y'ain't gonna tell no one?"

"Nah, man. 'Course not. But even if I did, I'd end up looking a hell of a lot worse than you would, dontcha think?"

Daryl looked up at him from underneath his bangs, looking the smallest bit hopeful.

"Hell, if anyone found out, you could just tell 'em I'm your bitch. Wouldn't be too far a stretch, right?"

"S'ppose not," Daryl mumbled. He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Shane's deft fingers flick open his belt and lower his fly. Christ, he hadn't even realized Shane was reaching for that again.

Then, Daryl gasped aloud when Shane shoved down his jeans and boxers a good six inches and took his cock in hand for the first time. Shane squeezed his hard-on affectionately, rubbing a thumb over the head and watching Daryl's eyes slam shut at the sensation.

"Fuck, you _are_ needing this," Shane murmured. He began to move his fist in a familiar up and down movement, twisting over the head with each stroke until Daryl was gripping the edge of the sink with white knuckles and panting into their shared air.

Shane's eyes were utterly fixated on him, watching the all-over flush seep out across Daryl's body. Watching his chest heave up and down with the unfamiliarity of the stimulation. Watching him bite so hard at his lower lip that Shane was sure it would bleed.

_He's trying to stay quiet_, Shane realized, and the thought only made him throb harder in the confines of his jeans. A little whimper escaped Daryl's throat. _Trying and failing. Fuck me._

"Look at me, Daryl," Shane commanded, and the archer dutifully opened his eyes, pupils wide with arousal. "You ain't done this before, have you?"

Daryl tried to look away from him, tried to ignore the question entirely. But then Shane twisted his palm over the top of Daryl's cock rapidly, and Daryl's body bowed forward off the sink as Daryl moaned breathily, "Fuck, oh fuck."

"C'mon, Daryl. You can tell me. You ever got a hand job before?" Shane's hand was speeding up its assault, and Daryl had no choice but to answer.

"N-no," he choked out as he fought not to buck into the tight grip, and Shane grinned widely.

"Fuck, that's hot. Savin' yourself for me, Daryl? It's better than touchin' yourself, huh. Bet my hand feels so fuckin' good stroking you."

Daryl could only nod, hand abandoning the sink to grip Shane's shirt. At that sign of utter submission and lust, Shane couldn't curtail his own needs any longer. Never missing a beat, Shane used his free hand to unsheathe his aching member. He began to stroke himself and Daryl at the same rapid rate.

Lucky for him, Daryl didn't even seem to notice Shane's newfound arousal. All he could concentrate on was the tight fist wrapped around his cock, providing delicious friction that he had to fight not to rut into like a whore. Shane took a chance and pressed his forehead to Daryl's, wanting to watch every emotion that passed over the boy's face as he neared his peak. Pre-cum oozed out of the slit of Daryl's cock with every movement of Shane's hand.

"Fuck, Daryl," Shane moaned, "You're fuckin' dripping for me. I'm gonna make you come, huh? Gonna make you come all over yourself."

Daryl's mouth hung open as he panted his reluctant agreement, "Yeah…fuck, I'm…m'close."

"Fuck, yeah I know you are. Gonna come hard, aren't ya?" Shane sped up his hands, stroking them both hard and fast and tight. "C'mon Daryl, give it to me. Wanna see you do it."

With several sharp breaths and a rumbling groan, Daryl erupted between them. Shane memorized all the rigid lines of Daryl's perfect body as he hit the moment of release, relished the whimpering moans the boy couldn't suppress as come shot out of his dick in every direction, coating his shirt and hand and even the floor with evidence of Shane's power over him.

Daryl had pushed his body even further into Shane's as he came, and the debauched sight of Daryl "I'll kick your ass" Dixon covered in his own spunk and panting in Shane's arms was too much for the latter to bear.

"Fuck, Daryl!" Shane cried out, before shooting off between them. The sated archer didn't even flinch when warm, white, wetness streaked across his chest.

They stayed close for a few minutes, as both worked to even out their breathing. Shane was the first to speak.

"Fuck," Shane chuckled, "That was so fucking good. I haven't shot off like that in forever." He watched Daryl's face for a moment. "Hurt less now?"

That made the archer look up at him, seeming confused and relieved, but guarded again, as if he expected Shane to turn on him at any moment. "Yeah, don't hurt at all."

Shane smiled proudly, "That's good, man. That was the idea. Now you got a shirt I can borrow, 'cuz this ones kinda fucked."

Daryl gave him an odd look, then shrugged and led Shane over to his room. "Take your pick," he said, gesturing towards his dresser. Daryl slipped out of his shirt and into a new one while Shane was distracted.

"So where am I sleeping?" Shane asked when he turned back around.

Daryl stared at him incredulously. "Sleeping…?"

"Yeah man, nurse said you've gotta keep this shit up for the next three days, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well then I'd rather not be shuttlin' my ass back and forth between your place and mine all weekend."

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth nervously. "Shane, ya don't gotta…I don't expect ya to…"

"Hey," Shane cut him off, taking a step forward and resting one hand on Daryl's shoulder. The archer had to fight the urge not to shrug him off. "One thing you oughta know about me after all these years is that I don't ever do something I don't wanna do."

When Daryl found no signs of a rouse in Shane's tone or posture, he let out a sigh. "Fine. Best to stay in my room them. In case…" _In case my dad comes back._

Shane didn't seem the least bit bothered by Daryl's vagueness. He flopped down on his back in the center of Daryl's bed, and shot the boy a cheeky grin. "Well, alright man. But where are you gonna sleep?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

Shane woke up grinning, actually fucking grinning in disbelief at the circumstances. He was sprawled out in Daryl's bed, in boxers and a T-shirt with the archer himself laying beside him in just as little clothing, and fast asleep. For all the time he'd spent ignoring his chronic problem, then cursing himself for it, then fantasizing about it at length, Shane never thought he'd get the chance to _act_ on it.

Not with Daryl Dixon, the guy who shunned him and everyone else the moment his mom died. Not with the guy who snapped like a dieting housewife at the smallest of comments, lashing out at the closest warm body. Not with the guy he'd been in fights with every other week since middle school, purposefully he might add, and who Shane knew, without a shadow of a doubt, hated his guts.

It had been a miracle in and of itself when he'd convinced Daryl to share the damn bed with him, rather than sleep on the cold floor. They'd argued about it for damn near half an hour before Shane had cornered the skittish archer and jabbed him not-too-softly in the abs, just hard enough to make his point.

"_You're hurt_," Shane had told him, "_Sleeping on the floor is just gonna fuck you up worse._" The bed wasn't exactly large. It was a full size, just big enough for two men of their size to squeeze in side by side. But nonetheless, Daryl relented, hanging his head a bit and crawling into bed alongside Shane. _He must be drunker than I thought_, Shane had thought amusedly, but he didn't let the knowledge ruin his moment. Instead, he pulled the blanket up over the both of them and managed to make his breathing slow and easy. In no time at all, Daryl's soft snores aligned with his own, and the archer was out like a light.

Shane realized all too late that he shouldn't have started shit with Daryl- not _yesterday_ of all days. And despite Shane's current locale, he still found himself regretting it. But hell, when he'd gone up to Daryl the previous morning, it hadn't been out of malice at all. He knew good and well that he was the only one who remembered what that day meant. Anyone else Daryl had spent time with as a kid had given up long ago, but Shane held out the longest, hoping upon hope that he could break through to the boy who _used_ to be one of his best friends, but had retreated so far into himself that Shane barely recognized him. All he wanted was to say something to Daryl, something reassuring or kind to try and make up for all the bullshit he'd spouted in the boy's direction in the past.

But Daryl had just flat out ignored him. In front of everyone, the whole goddamn school, the archer had pretended he couldn't hear him or see him as he walked towards the front door. _"Hey man, how are you?"_ had been Shane's brilliant opening line. He saw now how Daryl might have taken it as something sarcastic or baiting, but he'd meant it sincerely. Daryl had glowered angrily at him and shoved him away. Not particularly roughly, and not with a fraction of the strength Shane knew from experience that Daryl possessed. But just enough to get the message across.

Unfortunately, Shane couldn't let that go. Not with so many onlookers, and with his ego shattered to pieces, alongside his hopes for renewing their friendship. A dig at Daryl's truck didn't get a response. The younger Dixon brother hardly batted an eye when Shane mocked his clothes. But that comment about his Dad…it was too far, and just far enough. There was a brief moment where Daryl met his eyes in disbelief, and what Shane saw there made him want to take it all back.

_Hurt._ He'd fucking hurt Daryl. The statement had hit home, somehow. And after last night, Shane had his suspicions of why. But he also knew well enough that Daryl wouldn't want to talk about it. There was a good chance he'd go bolting out of the room as soon as he woke up, blinded by shame. But that moment the night before when Daryl had finally trusted Shane to touch him, had been far too thrilling for Shane to give up on easily. He wanted more. So much more.

There was a small sound from beside him, no less than a whimper, and Shane refocused his attention on the sleeping boy. But one short glance told Shane that Daryl was not sleeping soundly. His face was scrunched up into something like agony, and his body kept twitching inwards, trying to curl itself smaller in fear of whatever dreams were tormenting him.

Shane reached out to touch Daryl's shoulder, hoping to wake him gradually, but the smallest of touches had the opposite effect. Daryl bolted up in bed, eyes darting around wildly and chest heaving.

"Woah, Daryl, you're okay man. You're fine," Shane tried, but the words didn't make it through. He'd never seen the surly archer look so terrified before. He was shaking all over, and struggling to breathe.

Against his better judgment, and abandoning any sense of self-preservation he might have had, Shane decided to intervene. Moving quickly, he slipped in behind Daryl and wrapped his arms around his trembling body, forcing him flush against his chest and crooking one leg over Daryl's lower half so he couldn't escape.

"No, lemme go! Lemme go!" Daryl cried, wheezing audibly and thrashing within the larger boy's grip.

"Not gonna do that, man. You're okay, Daryl. It was just a dream. I just need you to breathe," Shane replied calmly.

"No, no, no, no," Daryl babbled still scratching at Shane's arms, "Stop. S-stop Shane. I didn't mean to. Didn't mean to I swear! Lemme go, please don't, don't do this, please!"

Shane only held him tighter, reasonably sure at this point that Daryl wasn't fully awake yet.

"Shh, you're alright," he hummed softly in Daryl's ear, "You're safe, man. No one's gonna hurt ya. Just gonna hold on until you calm down, okay?

Daryl whimpered, but gradually stopped fighting to break Shane's hold. His head canted to one side, cheek pressed above Shane's heart, as he slowly regained himself. Shane watched with fascination as Daryl's trembling abated, and his breathing normalized. And all the while, he stroked softly over Daryl's messy locks, whispering reminders in his ear that he was safe.

"That's it, man. That's good," Shane praised him. "You gonna be okay, now?"

"Mm," Daryl grunted lowly, making no move to unweave himself from Shane's body. From his position, Shane could see Daryl's eyes were closed tightly, and his cheeks blotchy and red.

"That happen a lot?" Shane asked him.

He felt, more than saw, Daryl shrug noncommittally.

"M'glad I was here then," Shane murmured. A moment later, he felt Daryl's body tense up.

"Fuck," Daryl whispered, trying to pull himself away from Shane. The older boy might have asked Daryl what was wrong, but the question was answered for him when one of Daryl's hands shot down towards his crotch. Daryl winced when it made contact and cursed under his breath once more.

"Shit, s'been hours, ain't it?" Shane said, "We slept a good while. Next time we've gotta set an alarm or somethin' so it doesn't get this bad."

Daryl squeaked in genuine surprise when he felt Shane reach down to squeeze his half-hard dick. But Shane didn't allow him to squirm away, and when he began to stroke Daryl's cock firmly, caress Daryl's chest with his free hand, the archer stopped struggling entirely.

"Shane, ya don't gotta…" Daryl whispered uncertainly, but the dark-haired boy only hushed him, tightening his fist around Daryl's length and memorizing the surprised moan the gesture elicited.

"Want to, man," Shane assured him, "But fuck, this ain't gonna take long at all, is it? You're already leaking all over my hand."

Daryl's hips bucked up into Shane's grasp and he groaned lowly. The mingling of pain and pleasure was distressing, even more so now that Daryl found himself craving it. He pushed his face into Shane's bicep and tried to stifle the sounds escaping from his throat.

"What would you have done if I wasn't here, huh Daryl? Wouldn't have taken much. Maybe you would have gotten into the shower, gotten that cock of yours all soapy and wet and let it slide between your fingers until you shot off against the wall."

Daryl let out an embarrassed huff that quickly became a moan when Shane twisted the palm of his hand over the sensitive head. "Fuck, fuck Shane…" Daryl whispered. He hated himself for enjoying this. _Dixons ain't fags, _that's what his brother would say. But no one had ever bothered to touch him this gently before, or to murmur into his ear the way Shane had mastered. And if he was being really honest, it felt _good_ to be pressed up against the larger boy, safely encompassed in his arms. It felt more than good, even with the hardening presence of Shane's cock pressing more and more insistently into his lower back.

"Or maybe you would have stayed right here in bed, laid out on your belly with your legs spread wide, fucking your dick into the sheets until you made a mess of yourself."

"Shane," Daryl groaned desperately, "Shane, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, I know you are man. Can feel how hard you are for it. And you're gonna do it for _me,_ aren't you, Daryl?"

"Fuck, fuck, oh fuck," Daryl panted before finally arching up into Shane's lap and shooting all over his own chest. He forced his cock into the tightness of Shane's fist, over and over until he finally collapsed back against the larger boy, spent. He pushed his face into the warm fabric of Shane's shirt, panting hot puffs of air against him and keeping his eyes shut tight. Any other time, he might have been humiliated by how fast he'd lost control. But the relief of release was so intense that Daryl couldn't be bothered to care.

"Bet that took the edge off, huh?" Shane cooed, and Daryl nodded complacently. To their mutual surprise, Daryl let out a soft, disproving hum when Shane went to slide out from underneath him, helping Daryl to carefully lay back, propped up by the pillows.

There was an air of suspicion in the archer's eyes as he watched Shane knee-walk his way down the bed, situating himself between Daryl's splayed legs and cocking an eyebrow to betray his intent.

"What are you doin', Shane? I already-"

Daryl choked on his words when Shane's mouth descended and engulfed his deflating member. The bliss of experiencing his first blow job was immediately negated by the overwhelming sensation of tongue stroking already frazzled nerves.

"Shane, stop. Please stop. S'too much!" Daryl groaned, and tried his best to get away. But Shane pressed two hands to his hips and held him still, mouth bobbing slowly, softly, and bringing his cock back to life whether he liked it or not.

It was intense. Shane's mouth was hot and wet and his lips formed a perfect ring around Daryl's length. Daryl wanted to beg him to stop, wanted to claim with any amount of conviction that he just wouldn't be able to get off again. But maybe the nurse's words had been truer than he hoped, because his cock was only getting harder, and Shane's mouth just kept bobbing and stroking and milking him until he couldn't breathe.

Shane could sense the moment that discomfort turned to bliss for the archer below him. A whole different type of tension radiated off of Daryl's body, and his hips began to stutter up of their own volition, seeking out the tight, wet heat that he wasn't accustomed to. On either side of Shane's head, Daryl's legs were trembling, spread wide but twitching violently inwards each time Shane swiped his tongue over the sensitive ridge running just under the head.

He glanced up from between Daryl's legs, and found him breathing hard, biting at his lower lip and watching Shane intently, with those piercing blue eyes of his. Shane moaned in appreciation of the sight, and Daryl let out a desperate moan of his own at the sensation. Both of his hands went to Shane's hair as he threw his head back into the pillow.

Shane pulled off with a slick pop and stroked with his hand, taking the time to lick slowly at his lips, now that he had Daryl's full attention. He smirked to himself when he saw the poor kid couldn't even breathe right.

"Guess I'm your first blow job too, huh Daryl?" The shock and lust etched all over the smaller teen's face was enough of a confirmation. "Fuck, that's hot. Being the first one to see you like this. The _only_ one if I get my way, and you know I always do."

He twisted his fist around the head, with just enough pressure to be teasing, and Daryl bucked up into his hand.

"Yeah, you wanna come again, don't you? Already got you off with my hand, and now I'm gonna do it with my mouth too. You need it bad, huh Daryl? Need my mouth on your cock…" Shane groaned at his own words, moving one hand down to palm his hard length through the thin cotton of his boxers.

"Bet you're wondering how I'm gonna do it, ain't that right Daryl? Whether I'll pull off just in time so I can watch you shoot all over yourself, or if I'll shove that cock of yours all the way down my throat, swallow down every last drop…fuck, I can hardly decide myself. You got an opinion on the matter?"

Shane had his own cock out now, and was stroking it slowly as he watched Daryl squirm under his caresses. Feeling mischievous, Shane abruptly dropped both hands from Daryl's body, and instead refocused his efforts on his own pleasure. He smiled at the affronted, anxious expression on Daryl's face. But Shane wasn't going to give in easy. No, he wanted to hear Daryl say it.

"What's wrong, man? If ya weren't into it ya could have just said so," Shane mocked, using two hands on his length and fucking into his own grip.

"Shane…" Daryl whispered uncertainly, and hell, that was a start. Probably all the eloquence the kid could muster under the circumstances.

"Well hey, you weren't exactly being too responsive when I was going at it, now were you?" Shane reached out and wrapped two fingers around Daryl's twitching cock and stroked ever so lightly over the sensitive glands. "You like it when I touch you? Is that what you want?"

His hand halted its movement and Daryl let out a huff of distress. "Ain't gonna do it unless you tell me you want it, Daryl."

Daryl seemed to have to bite at his lip for several moments in order to gather the nerve, but eventually he murmured, "I- I want it. Want you…want you to touch me, Shane."

Shane gave him a wide grin, "All you had to do was ask." He ducked his head back down and lapped at the head, smiling even wider when Daryl all but mewed underneath him, hands fumbling to grasp at his dark locks.

But then Shane's tongue descended just a small degree farther south, and Daryl's muscles locked up in fear. "Shane, d-don't. It'll hurt."

"Naw man, it'll feel really good, I promise. Ain't gonna hurt ya, Daryl. Done enough of that for a lifetime," Shane promised. And before Daryl could really grasp the meaning behind his words, Shane's tongue was lapping carefully over his swollen balls, soaking them in spit and drawing designs across the taut skin.

"Haa- holy shit," Daryl groaned. "Fuck, Shane…that's…oh, fuck…" Any worry of pain was quickly replaced by startling pleasure, the kind Daryl could hardly ride out without screaming loud and long just to release some of the building pressure. Shane spent another couple minutes laving the battered orbs with attention, an apology in and of itself, before mouthing his way back up to Daryl's pulsing dick and quickly sucking the organ down to the hilt.

"Nnngh!" Daryl moaned through his teeth. Shane could taste how close Daryl was, how his cock felt heavier than before, hotter. Pre-cum slicked over the back of his tongue, and Shane sped his pace on both Daryl and himself. Shane hit the point of no return faster than he expected, and quite suddenly, he was coming against the sheets, moaning around the cock in his mouth and forcing Daryl all the way down his throat.

The vibrations of Shane's orgasm were enough to shove Daryl dramatically over the edge. He threw his head back and moaned loudly into the air, more desperate than Shane had heard him yet, and pumped his cock into Shane's mouth. Daryl came hard, and whimpered when the muscles of Shane's throat fluttered around his length in an effort to swallow him down.

When they eventually calmed, Daryl found himself watching Shane closely, trying to understand whatever was going on in the older boys' head. Daryl had never thought he'd get the chance to experience, or that he'd even be able to tolerate, the kind of attention Shane had shown him over the last 24 hours. And he wanted it more now than he'd ever admit aloud. But the fear of Shane ripping the rug out from under him was growing constantly. That voice in the back of his head that told him no one would ever care about him, that everyone left eventually, whispered incessantly to him that he should leave first. _Run_, it said.

"Shane," Daryl said softly, "Why are you still here?"

Shane frowned slightly, but easily identified the insecurity in Daryl's tone. "'Cuz I wanna be, man. I mean seriously, y'ain't figured it out by now?"

"Figured what out?"

Shane propped himself up on an elbow. "This," he said, indicating between the two of them, "Been wantin' this for a while."

He could have laughed at how confused Daryl was by his statement.

"But you hate me."

"No I don't, man. Ya fuckin' frustrate me. Wantin' shit you can't have is frustratin'."

"Why you always startin' fights with me then?"

"Why do you think? You see me wrestlin' with any other guys out in the schoolyard? Fightin' s'better than nothin'."

Daryl brooded on that for a moment. "I ain't a fag," he muttered.

And to his surprise, Shane barked out a laugh. "Man that ain't what I'm sayin'."

"_You_ ain't one. People at school talk, ya been with plenty of girls," Daryl pointed out.

"I have," Shane confirmed, "And I like girls plenty. But they ain't the only thing I want. Don't want you to get the wrong idea, man. Ain't like I'm lookin' at every guy that passes my way. S'far as I can tell, it's just you. But I've looked at you plenty."

"So…what do ya want from me?" Daryl asked him. _Everything_, Shane immediately thought, but he kept that gut reaction to himself.

"Whatever you wanna give, man. And no more than that. The stuff we've done so far, you're good with it?"

Daryl sighed and rubbed at his eyes, "Mm," he grunted affirmatively. Shane studied the bags under his eyes, the careful way he was holding his body. Daryl was probably still hurting from yesterday, and emotionally spent from the nightmare, and the panic attack that had followed. Hell, the stuff he and Shane had done probably hadn't helped either. Daryl looked more wrapped up in his head now than Shane had ever seen him.

"Why dontcha just go back to sleep awhile, okay? You could use it." Shane moved to get off the bed.

"You're leavin'?" Daryl immediately questioned, and Shane stopped in his tracks at the look of alarm tarnishing the boy's face. Daryl sat straight up in bed, wincing at the sudden movement.

"No, no man," Shane shushed him, pushing at Daryl's chest until he tentatively lay back down. "Just getting somethin' to clean us off. I ain't goin' nowhere. Ya don't gotta worry about that." Shane sighed, and figured, _fuck it, we can always wash the sheets._ He crawled back into bed beside Daryl, helping the boy to roll onto his side and then molding his body against Daryl's skinny form. The archer went tense for a moment, disarmed by the closeness, before visibly giving in to the warmth, and relaxing against Shane and the bed.

"Sorry," Daryl began to rasp, "For…"

"Don't worry about it, man. Just sleep," Shane demanded gently, and Daryl complied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Shane woke up to low whimpering, and a trembling body curved into his chest. Daryl was in pain again; he had to be, from the anxious, muffled noises escaping his lips. Shane glanced over at the clock.

"Shit, it's only been a couple hours?"

The smaller boy sighed a little when he realized that Shane was awake now, but still attempted to bite back his pained noises. "Dunno what's wrong with me. Nurse said only three times, maybe four…"

Shane pulled at Daryl's shoulder until he was lying on his back, and grazed a hand over his clothed chest, "Hey man, don't worry. It's gonna be fine. I'll take care of ya, okay?"

Daryl had to fight the instinct to bite back _I don't fuckin' need you to take care of me_. But luckily, he was too distressed to garner up much hostility. Instead he swallowed another whine and mumbled, "Ain't supposda hurt this bad. Not this soon. Something's wrong…"

"Shh, don't go panicking, alright? We'll figure it out," Shane soothed him, and for the first time Daryl could remember, words alone managed to ease some of his pain. _We_, Shane promised; Daryl wasn't on his own in this, and for that he was unreasonably thankful. He had a high tolerance for pain, but this wasn't the kind he was accustomed to, and the dull throb was beginning to border on agonizing.

"You sure the nurse didn't say anything else? Nothin' that could help us?"

"Just how many times, and that if I didn't I'd have to go to the hospital, and somethin' 'bout prostates…"

"Prostate?" Shane interrupted, "What about it? Like prostate massage?"

"Dunno, think she said prostate 'stimulation.' Whatever that is…"

"Man, don't you pay attention in health class?" Shane asked with a genuine smile, but Daryl only frowned in return, shaking his head in the negative. "It's a gland, right? All men got one. Plays a hand in makin' you come."

"Okay…"

"And when you massage it, it feels really fuckin' good, and it'll milk every last drop out of ya. Lotta guys can get off just from that."

Shane sat up on his knees and situated himself between Daryl's naked legs. Wasting no time with permission, he took the boy's cock in hand and began to pump slowly, easing him into his arousal.

Daryl seemed to try to writhe away from the soft touches, making Shane smile.

"But how do you…uh…massage it? Ain't it…_inside_?"

The utter confusion on the poor boy's face nearly had Shane second-guessing his decision to push further. But Christ, if he could only show Daryl how _good_ it was, he knew the archer would end up begging for more. Begging for _him_. He just needed to show him once.

So Shane wet two fingers in his mouth, Daryl carefully tracking his movements all the while, then slowly brought them to Daryl's puckered opening and swirled them in careful circles, providing the lightest of pressures.

Daryl reacted instantly, viciously, and exactly how Shane expected. The younger Dixon shot up off the bed, pulling his body away from Shane's with wide eyes and face crestfallen by the obvious betrayal.

"Hey, hey, I ain't gonna do somethin' ya say no too," Shane immediately cooed, raising his hands up in mock surrender, "But that's how you do a prostate massage. Like you said, it's inside."

Daryl bit steadily at his lip, shifting his weight in clear discomfort and pain. He _wanted_ to believe the older boy; wanted to believe anything at this point that would ease the throbbing sting between his legs.

"Won't it hurt?" he asked eventually, in a voice softer than a whisper.

"Might burn a bit," Shane answered honestly, "But just for a second. I've done it myself. Feels good, Daryl; I promise. Lemme make you feel that good."

Still gnawing at his lower lip, Daryl gave him an exceptionally tentative nod, and a second later, Shane had resumed his careful stroking with both hands. Daryl watched him closely, his face a carefully guarded veil of indifference. But Shane didn't miss the way he flinched when he felt the first instance of true pressure at his untouched hole.

"Gotta try to relax," Shane instructed gently, "It only hurts when you're all wound up like this."

"Fuck you," Daryl bit out.

"I'm serious, Daryl. I won't hurt you," Shane growled, then leaned forward to slowly lick and nip upon Daryl's neck and collar bone. The archer moaned softly beneath him, forgetting himself for just a moment. And all at once, Shane was able to slip his finger inside.

The immediate sting prompted Daryl to whimper, and bury his face in Shane's shoulder. But the older boy took charge of the situation, moving his finger slowly in and out and feeling around for that one golden spot that would make Daryl come like a freight train.

Shane abandoned his mission to stroke the boy off, and instead used his free hand to prop himself over Daryl's body, providing the comfort of his warmth and biting at the boy's neck as he slowly caressed inside. A minute of careful prodding, and Shane's finger grazed over something walnut-sized and hard.

Daryl shouted out a brazen, startled moan, and Shane felt the boy's cock twitch between their abdomens, already leaking from the unfamiliar stimulation. And with that encouragement, Shane began to rub the gland slowly, delighting when Daryl sobbed into his shoulder.

"Oh god, oh god…"

"Yeah, you like that? It feel good, Daryl?"

"Fuck, oh Jesus fuck…"

"You sure you don't want me to stop?" Shane teased, slowing his movements. And Daryl's eyes shot open, more earnest and wanting than he'd ever seen them.

"Please, Shane. Please don't stop," he begged.

"Dunno, man. Y'ain't exactly singin' praises…"

And at that, Daryl flung himself forward into Shane's body without a thought to the consequences. He straddled the larger boy and ground their hard cocks together, groaning openly and begging with his body. The archer managed to push down the embarrassment at his own weakness, because what the _fuck _was that and why the _fuck_ had he stopped. Shane's finger had slipped from him during the journey, and Daryl ground down instinctually, searching for that incredible friction.

"Please, Shane," Daryl groaned, both hands gripping Shane's shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Felt so good. Please don't stop."

Cock twitching incessantly, Shane quickly reached for his jeans and grabbed the small bottle of lube he'd placed in his back pocket on a whim. He slicked two fingers and teased them around Daryl's entrance, wanting to hear the boy beg for it again.

"Shane, _Shane_," the archer whimpered, and Shane wanted to pull that quivering lip into his mouth and suck on it 'til it was raw.

"Yeah, you want it don't you? You wanna ride my fingers, Daryl?"

When Daryl nodded rapidly in response, unable to form coherent words, Shane lost his last semblance of control. He slid two fingers inside the writhing boy, quickly locating his prostate and rubbing over the spot again and again.

Daryl became a picture of wanton bliss above him, rocking back against his fingers and keening loudly with every movement. His head was thrown back and his eyes clenched shut, unable to endure any additional stimulation from the world around him. His pulsing cock bobbed up and down with every thrust, leaking pre-cum between them in a steady, white stream.

"Fuck, Daryl, you're so fuckin' hot right now," Shane groaned. He gripped Daryl's neck with his spare hand, stroking the soft skin there tenderly and holding him steady as the boy rode him in shallow, jerky movements.

"Look at me," Shane abruptly ordered, and Daryl was in no position to protest. His eyes opened and locked onto the brawny brunette underneath him. Daryl couldn't seem to stop moaning. Every stroke over that place inside made him sob indecipherable words, until his mouth hung open constantly, pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips every now and again.

"Fuck, Daryl," Shane whispered, lazing his eyes over the taut body writhing around in his lap. "Fuck, I wanna kiss you. Let me kiss you," Shane half-begged and half-demanded, knowing full and well that this might be the crippling request that sent Daryl packing.

But Daryl continued to rock against the thick fingers inside of him, and whispered, "Dunno…dunno how."

"S'alright, I'll show you," Shane promised breathlessly, "Just lemme show you." And when Daryl's eyes flickered down to the older boy's lips, Shane pressed his mouth to his instantly, moaning at the contact. Daryl was hesitant at first, but with Shane's encouragement he began to respond, rolling his tongue into Shane's mouth and letting the older boy guide him.

They kissed like it was their last time, and Shane rubbed hard at Daryl's prostate, swallowing the boy's blissed-out cries.

"Please, please Shane," Daryl whimpered against his lips between kisses, "Please make me…I _can't_…oh, God…"

Shane wrapped his fist around Daryl's cock, and pumped him in time with his knowing fingers. Twice, maybe three times, and then Daryl was coming hard and with a loud cry, spurting thick, white come all over himself and Shane and grinding down into those fingers that had made it all happen.

"Oh fuck, oh _fuck_," Daryl groaned, and was grateful to feel Shane's arms wrap around him when his body went limp and weak.

He let his forehead drop to Shane's shoulder and panted in the familiar musk of the older boy's skin, trying to hide his red cheeks. It had been strange, sure. Hurt a little, at first. And it had made him feel vulnerable, exposed. But it had also been _good_. Felt so fucking good, better than anything he could remember in his short, fucked up life.

To Daryl's relief, Shane didn't utter a word. The larger boy pet him gently, toyed with his unruly hair, and mouthed along his neck, and cheek. Shane figured Daryl would feel humiliated by what had just happened, and need time to process. And for that reason, he was surprised enough to gasp aloud when he felt Daryl tentatively grasp his aching member.

Daryl awkwardly ran his fingers up and down, then met Shane's eyes.

"What do I do?" he asked seriously, and Shane had to fight not to tackle him in another dominating kiss. Instead, he wrapped his hand around Daryl's and they began to stroke him in tandem.

"Fuck, that's good," Shane sighed, "That's so good, Daryl." He tightened his fist around Daryl's hand, and urged him to pick up the pace. And when Daryl seemed to get the hang of it, Shane let his hand drop back to the bed, and watched the boy he'd been fantasizing about for years slowly work his cock.

Daryl was biting at his lip in concentration, face determined. And when he ran a thumb over the sensitive head, and Shane groaned lewdly, the older boy thought he saw the faintest gleam of a smile.

"Yeah, that's it, Daryl. Just like that," Shane encouraged him. Hardly a minute in, and he was dangerously close to coming. But the fact that it was _Daryl_ doing this to him was almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, yeah Daryl. That's so good. You're gonna make me come."

Daryl looked him right in the eye, and Shane thought he saw a twinkle there of something sinister and abandoned.

"Do it."

A fucking _demand_.

And Shane lost it. He came without warning, bucking up off the bed and groaning Daryl's name repeatedly, strewn in with a mix of curses and praise. Completely spent, Shane fell back onto the bedspread with Daryl still straddling his legs, and let out a deep sigh.

"_Fuck._"

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane couldn't help but smile in amusement at the way that small shred of confidence Daryl had displayed dissipated as soon as they pulled their clothes back on. He couldn't really hold it against him though, not when 24 hours before they'd been beating each other into the ground.

So Shane strolled through Daryl's shamble of a house like he owned it, and started rifling through the kitchen.

"Man I'm starving," he announced when he came up empty-handed. "Seriously, no food? Doesn't your dad ever go grocery shopping?"

Daryl stood in the doorway and stared down at the floor. He gave a slight shrug. "He ain't been home in a while."

Shane's expression softened, and he chastised himself for whining about something that clearly bothered the younger boy. "Alright well, why don't we go out and get some food then?"

"We'd be better off huntin'," Daryl countered.

Shane tilted his head a bit to gaze at the boy. "You do that a lot?"

"Mm," Daryl grunted, before heading back into the living room and returning with a crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"You sure you don't wanna just hit the drive through? You're still pretty beat up. Don't wanna make it worse," Shane said.

Daryl felt a squeezing sensation in his chest that he couldn't quite identify at Shane's sincere, worried tone. "M'fine," he scoffed.

"Well, alright then."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

If Shane hadn't known Daryl for as long as he had, he might not have recognized him out in the woods. He was a completely different person there; perfectly at ease with himself and his surroundings. Talkative, of all things, as he instructed Shane on various tracking techniques.

And even though Shane loved seeing Daryl like this- genuinely happy- it also made his blood burn with fear. If Daryl was _this_ damn good at tracking, then there was a reason. It wasn't about sport. Daryl had made that much clear when empty cupboards prompted him to pick up his bow. How many times had Daryl trekked around these woods alone, just to put a meal on the table? How much time had he spent out here, rather than safe, warm, and at home?

_Maybe it was to get away from his home_, Shane suddenly considered. And when that thought frightened him more than anything, he curtailed his inner monologue and refocused his attention on the silent hunter.

Abruptly, Daryl stopped in his tracks and brought the bow up to eye-level. He was tracking something across the icy pond, something that Shane couldn't see. There was a sharp snap as the archer pulled the trigger, and then an owl fell from a tree hanging over the pond and hit the ice with a dull thud.

Daryl went to stomp out over the ice and retrieve it, but Shane's arms immediately shot out to stop him.

"Woah, man, that ain't fuckin' worth it," Shane said, "We don't know how thick that ice is."

"S'freezin' out here. Bet it's solid all the way through. I'll be fine," Daryl scoffed, and carefully tread out onto the ice. He left his bow behind, propped up against a tree by Shane's feet, and Shane couldn't help but think that that meant something.

But then Daryl fell through the ice, and Shane couldn't think at all.

The pond was deeper than either of them had realized, at least six feet at the center. Daryl's head sunk out from view, and Shane's heart dropped.

Shane was out on the ice before he'd considered the danger, going carefully to his knees by the hole Daryl had disappeared into and thrusting one hand into the ice-cold water. His only reassurance was the two hands scrambling for purchase against the thin ice around him. He grabbed Daryl by the collar of his jacket and pulled with all his weight behind it. And Daryl erupted from the water with a gasp, clawing at Shane desperately.

The ice was already cracking around them, so Shane wasted no time in hoisting Daryl up onto his shoulder and whisking him out to safety. He settled the archer down on the hard ground to get a proper look at him.

"Fuck! Fuck Daryl, what were you thinking?" he shouted, eyeing the boy's blue lips and trembling form. "Gotta get you somewhere warm. C'mon!"

And when Daryl didn't respond, just stared up at him blankly with hair iced over his forehead, Shane hauled him up on one shoulder, grabbed the crossbow with his free hand, and took off. They'd parked the car only a mile or so away, and Shane was damn thankful for that. He ran the way there in less than ten minutes, even with the shivering boy's weight holding him back.

Shane panicked the entire ride back. He shouted at Daryl to get his clothes off, to do _something_, but the boy just sat there dejectedly, shuddering in his damp clothing that was painted to his skin.

Refusing to waste any more time, Shane carried Daryl inside, settling him down on the couch and quickly working to start a fire. With it lit, he turned back to find Daryl in the exact same position, looking dazed and bluer by the second.

"For fuck's sake, Daryl, we've gotta get your clothes off!" Shane growled in frustration.

He went for the boots and socks first, then struggled to peel off the boy's damp jeans and boxers. The jacket was easy enough to remove, even without Daryl's help. But when Shane went to unbutton Daryl's shirt, then the archer finally came alive.

"D-don't!" Daryl coughed, trying with frozen hands to slap Shane's away.

"Ain't got time for your damn modesty, Dixon. You're gonna freeze to death!" Shane snarled, continuing to unbutton his shirt.

"D-don't, don't. P-p-please, Shane," Daryl whimpered, clenching his eyes shut and pushing at the older boy's hands weakly. But Shane was paying him no mind. He ripped the soaked fabric off of Daryl's body, and hauled him over to the fireplace, dropping him to the ground while he went off to find some towels.

It was only after he trotted back into the room, and got a good look at Daryl's hunched-over, trembling, naked form, that Shane realized why Daryl had put up such a fight.

Every ounce of panic and frustration evaporated from Shane's system, and he stood frozen in the doorway. _Scars_. Marks of all shapes and sizes, some from belts and others circular burns from cigarettes put out on adolescent skin. Some of them weren't even healed yet, doled out within the last few weeks, certainly.

Shane approached Daryl cautiously, crouched down to his level and wrapped a towel around him from behind.

Daryl flinched as if he'd been struck. "N-no. D-don't, Shane. _Please_."

Shane began to dry Daryl's hair, and the boy's trembling only seemed to worsen. "Hey, man, it's alright. Just gotta get you warm and dry before you get sick."

"D-don't, don't…" Daryl continued to mumble, and Shane wasn't too sure how coherently the shivering boy was thinking.

Once he was convinced that Daryl's hair was sufficiently dry, Shane crawled around to his front and began to run the towel over him limb by limb.

"Jesus, look at you. _Told_ you not to go out there," Shane grumbled mostly to himself, but when he looked up, Daryl was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"M'sorry," he whispered, trying to pull his body away from Shane's stroking hands.

"Daryl, I ain't _mad_ at you," Shane said in surprise, but Daryl's eyes remained trained on the floor. "Look at me," Shane demanded, and watery blue eyes shot up to meet his. "I'm not mad, Daryl. I'm _scared_. Watching you go down like that…it scared the shit out of me. I don't like seeing you hurt, or sick."

Shane reached up to cup Daryl's cheek, and the boy flinched away fearfully. "Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, man," Shane swore, stroking one hand down the side of Daryl's neck. "Please just fuckin' believe me on this. I won't hurt you, alright? _I won't_."

And when his words seemed to calm the trembling boy somewhat, Shane stood up and quickly skimmed out of his shirt and jeans, then situated himself down behind Daryl and wrapped a blanket around his body. He pulled Daryl across his lap, hugging their chests together and stroking his hands over the boy's marred back.

It didn't take a mind-reader to figure out why Daryl recoiled each time Shane's fingers grazed over a scar. But Shane simply held him tight and ignored Daryl's fussing until the boy eventually began to relax in his arms.

Slowly, Daryl was warming up. The color was returning to his cheeks, the feeling to his hands and feet, and he finally felt like he could think again. Tiredly, Daryl let his cheek rest against Shane's shoulder, pressing his cold nose to Shane's neck and making the boy jump.

"Jesus, figures you'd have a cold nose. Mangy mutt y'are," Shane teased. "At least you're warmin' up alright."

"S'better now," Daryl breathed, and then, with a great deal more difficulty, "Thank you."

It didn't escape Shane how foreign those words sounded coming from the hunter's mouth.

But rather than bring attention to it, Shane said, "Yeah, y'ain't shakin' much now at all. Just try not to give me any more heart attacks anytime soon."

There was a long silence before Daryl rasped in a voice that cracked in and out with indecision, "Didn't want you to see them."

"I know you didn't," Shane replied, because he wasn't sure what else he _could_ say.

"I've never…never let _anyone_ see 'em."

"Daryl, I never woulda said all that shit about your dad, not if I'd known-"

"S'fine, Shane."

"No it _ain't_. Jesus, it's the farthest fuckin' thing from fine," Shane growled, and his angry tone made Daryl tense up in his arms.

Shane took notice. "Hey, I ain't mad at you, man, don't want you thinkin' that," he said in a softer voice. "But if I see that asshole… Daryl, I can't promise I won't kill him."

"Ya wouldn't be the first to try," Daryl mumbled tiredly. Shane's hands moved smoothly over his back and into his hair, rubbing soft circles, and the archer found himself being lulled unwittingly into a foggy haze of exhaustion.

_I'll be the last_, Shane thought.

"S'right, just sleep, man. That's good," Shane drawled against his ear. "Don't worry 'bout a thing, alright? I'll take care of ya."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Daryl awoke fairly disoriented. His first sensation, far before he opened his eyes, was heat. He was sweating hard, sweltering and cocooned by warmth. He opened his eyes and realized next that he was lying on his back, staring up at the living room ceiling. He went to scratch his nose, and found himself wholly unable to move.

Somehow, Shane had stacked every available blanket in the house on top of him as he slept. So with great effort, Daryl heaved the mound of tattered blankets to the flour and sat up on the edge of the couch. The room was warm as well, fire still roaring in the corner. He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, and recognized the sound of Shane rifling around.

Daryl tread quietly over to the bedroom and pulled on a clean pair of boxers and sweatpants. It was only when he'd slipped quietly into the kitchen that Daryl realized he'd forgotten a shirt. He had half a mind to turn back and retrieve one, but then Shane turned towards him by chance, and Daryl had to bite back his cringe.

"He lives," Shane said with a smile, striding towards him. But there was only warmth in the way the older boy was looking at him. No disguised revulsion or pity, or even surprise at seeing Daryl walk around without a shirt for the first time.

Daryl's eyes widened in shock when Shane carefully ran his hands up his arms, over his chest, then finally up his neck and through his hair. He moved slowly and methodically, as if confirming that Daryl was really there. "Feelin' better?" Shane asked him, with his hands settled on Daryl's neck.

"Mm," Daryl grunted with a shrug, uncomfortable with encompassing Shane's undivided attention. And even more so with just how comfortable Shane was becoming with him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that, softly, for no reason at all. And even though that realization left Daryl warmer than that mountain of blankets could ever have managed, the unfamiliarity of it all left him pushing the sensation down and burying it.

"You can cook?" Daryl asked quickly, changing the topic.

"Well don't sound so damn surprised," Shane replied. "I'm makin' chili. Sound alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good, just didn't peg ya as a housewife s'all."

Shane's cheery expression darkened to some degree, and Daryl instantly regretted opening his mouth. But then Shane softly explained, "My Dad took off a few years back. And my Mom's gotta work doubles to make ends meet. So I cook for myself most of the time."

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot, and looked up at Shane through his bangs with an expression of understanding. "Where'd all this come from, then?"

At that, Shane gave him a small smile. "The fuckin' store. You've been out for a while. Didn't wanna give you any more excuses to go get yourself killed once you woke up."

"Didn't have to do all this," Daryl mumbled, biting at his lower lip.

Shane stepped forward and placed a hand on his waist, prompting Daryl to shiver noticeably. "We've talked about this, man. I _want_ to. Now sit down and eat."

Doing as he was instructed, Daryl plopped down at the kitchen table, and gratefully accepted the heaping bowl of food Shane offered him. Grabbing some food of his own, Shane sat down beside him. They ate in amicable silence for a while, before Shane abruptly said, "So Rick's having a party tonight."

Daryl eyed him skeptically, waiting for Shane to continue.

"I was thinkin' we could go," Shane finished, cocking an eyebrow.

Daryl set down his fork. "That ain't a good idea."

"Really? Cuz I think it's a great idea. Probably the best idea I've had in days."

"Those people don't like me. They ain't gonna want me there."

"No, they don't _know_ you. 'Cuz you never let them know you. That's different."

"But..."

"And if they got the chance to hang out with you, I'd bet money they'd like ya. Rick especially; he's been my best friend my whole damn life."

"Does he know...?"

"Nah, he doesn't. Don't think he'd judge me for it, just hasn't come up. Hadn't exactly acted on it 'til yesterday. But c'mon, Daryl. It'll be fun. Get you outta the damn house for a while now that you've had two near-death experiences in two days."

Daryl crossed his arms over his chest, "The fight with you don't count. Y'ain't half as dangerous as that pond was," he scoffed.

"You're avoidin' the issue here. Come out with me tonight."

"Ain't you gonna go either way?"

Shane watched him for a beat. "No. I want to hang with you. Think it'd be more fun if we were drinkin' and partyin' with folks our age, but it's up to you man. Your call."

The archer huffed out a slow breath through his nose. _Why'd he always have to say the right fuckin' thing?_ "Fine."

And Daryl very nearly cracked a grin at how wide Shane's smile instantly became.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"I don't wanna do this."

"Yeah, well we're already here."

"You leave me alone with them, and I'll kill you Shane. I'm serious."

Shane reached out to grasp the handle of the front door, "Duly noted."

And for all the time Daryl had spent worrying about what people would think when they saw him, he was surprised to find that not a single person seemed to notice when he and Shane arrived together. This may largely have been attributed to the fact that the house was already a wreck. With Rick's parents out of town, most of the junior class was in attendance. The floor was sticky from spilt beer, and there was hardly space to stand.

Shane led Daryl to the kitchen and got them both a drink, and the skittish archer was just beginning to think that this might not be so bad after all, when a booming drawl echoed from behind them, "Shane! You son of a bitch!"

Daryl tensed instantly, preparing to fight, and surprised himself with his willingness to fight on someone _else's_ behalf, to defend Shane without a second thought. But then Daryl saw that Shane's expression was anything but grim, and that the booming voice belonged to none other than Rick Grimes.

"I told ya to come _early_," Rick continued, clapping his hand to Shane's shoulder. And Daryl felt the smallest flare of anger, which he quickly and quietly suppressed.

"Ya know I prefer to be fashionably late," Shane countered.

"Well here's to hopin' that Lori don't have the same problem, or else I'm gonna be havin' a real awkward conversation with my parents when they get home," Rick exclaimed, raising his cup in the air dramatically and letting his beer slosh to the floor.

"Christ, Grimes, you're a fuckin' lightweight."

"Nah, you're just late to the party man! Gotta catch you up. You an' Dixon here," Rick slurred, clumsily moving to pour them both another beer. Abruptly, he dropped the half-full cup and looked rapidly between Daryl and Shane. "Hey, hey, hey, hey what are ya'll doin' here together? Thought ya hated each other or somethin'?"

"Uh..."

"We decided to kiss and make up," Shane interjected, moving inches closer to the clearly uncomfortable boy beside him.

"So y'all are...friends now?"

"Best friends," Shane said with a smile.

With surprising agility, Rick suddenly reached out to grasp Daryl by the shoulders. "Man, I am so _happy_ for you. Shane, he's the _best_. I mean he's an asshole. Definitely an asshole. But once you get past all the layers of bullshit he's just the best. Y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Uh...yeah, Rick. I gotcha."

"S'good," Rick hiccupped, taking a step back. Shane was the only one to notice Daryl's sigh of relief at regaining his personal space, and rewarded him by discreetly and briefly rubbing a hand along his lower back.

"Rick!" called a shrill voice from the other end of the kitchen.

"That'd be Lori," Shane whispered for Daryl's benefit.

"RICK!"

Looking mildly alarmed, Rick took two faltering step backwards. He paused and gestured between Daryl and Shane. "You two," he drawled.

"RICK where ARE you?!"

Rick spun around on his heels with an over-enthusiastic "Gotta go!", and Shane turned to look Daryl in the eye.

"You havin' fun yet?" Shane asked with a grin.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Gonna take a hell of a lot more booze for that to happen."

The statement turned out to be somewhat portentous, as two hours and no fewer than eight refills later, Daryl was collapsed on the couch with Shane pressed firmly to his side, sighing in contentment as the world swayed around him.

It was sometime past midnight, and the house had mostly cleared out. A handful of teens were left passed out on the floor, and in various states of disarray on the adjacent couches. Rick and Lori had disappeared up to his bedroom shortly after their arrival. And no one paid them any mind when Shane's hand gradually migrated from his lap to Daryl's.

Daryl's body thrummed pleasantly at the sensation, but his eyes shot open nonetheless, darting around the room without any focus. "Shane, s'people here," he mumbled.

"What, you embarrassed of me?"

"Ya want people to know?" Daryl countered, and the football player smiled lazily at him.

"If it means I get to touch you right now, then y'ain't gonna hear me complainin'." His hand crept to the inside of Daryl thigh, rubbing in tortuously slow circles that instantly reminded the younger boy of just how _long_ it had been since the two of them had gotten off.

"Shane, please not here," Daryl groaned, writhing away ineptly. He grabbed Shane's torturous hand and held in place, seeking our Shane's bleary eyes. "If word got 'round to Merle, or my dad...it'd be bad for me. Please."

The words sobered Shane up enough to allow him to sit up straight and grasp Daryl firmly by the shoulder. "I ain't gonna let that happen, alright? I won't. No one's hurtin' you any more."

Daryl's eyes darted down to his lap. "Y'can't promise that. And...an' you're drunk..."

"Seriously? You been payin' any attention today? I won't let him hurt you, Daryl. I'll fuckin' kill him if I have to," Shane growled, grasping the smaller boy by the back of his neck. He was propped on one knee now, leaning menacingly over Daryl's body.

"Please, Shane?" Daryl whispered. Neither was too sure whether he was begging for Shane to stop or keep going, but Shane took the initiative to grab him by the collar and pull him to his feet. He all but carried a shaky Daryl up the stairs, and shoved him into the first door on the right, which turned out to be Rick's parents' bedroom.

Shane kicked the door shut behind him. He spun around to find Daryl already laid out on the bed, propped up on his elbows to watch Shane saunter sloppily towards him. His knees hit the edge of the mattress, settling between Daryl's spread legs. Shane leaned over Daryl's body and grazed a hand up and down his chest.

"Liked ya better naked," Shane said with a grin.

Daryl huffed out a laugh. "You're drunk."

"So are you," Shane countered. His hand hovered over the top button on Daryl's flannel. "Lemme take it off ya?"

Daryl gazed up at him uncertainly for a beat, before rasping out, "Alright."

Even with explicit permission, Shane took his time about undressing Daryl. He kept his eyes on Daryl's face as he slowly unbuttoned the younger boy's shirt, and skimmed it off his shoulders. And he moved slowly as he unbuckled Daryl's belt, and gracelessly jerked his jeans and boxers off slim legs. Shane smiled at how hard the boy was already, cock jutting up towards his belly button expectantly.

"Yeah, you want this," Shane crowed, taking Daryl in hand and watching the boy's eyes darken.

But rather than lie back and take whatever was given to him, as Shane expected Daryl to do, the archer instead attempted to sit up straight and stop Shane's movements. Shane let his hand fall to Daryl's thigh, waiting for an explanation.

"Ain't you...ain't you gonna...?" Daryl rasped, pink spreading from his cheeks all the way down his chest.

"That what you want?" Shane responded after a brief moment of confusion.

Daryl nodded with his eyes trained on the ground, and Shane quickly ripped his shirt over his head and let his jeans fall from his hips. He moved to pull off his boxers too, but then spotted the hesitance veiling Daryl's features.

"Hey man, you alright with this?"

"What? I...yeah...yeah..." Daryl mumbled, "S'just, we ain't never..."

Shane pressed a hand to Daryl's shoulder and stroked the skin there reassuringly. "Ain't gonna ask ya to do somethin' ya don't wanna do," he reminded Daryl, "Not gonna try to fuck ya, right outta the blue, if that's what you're worried about. How's about we start with somethin' easy, yeah?"

And with that, Shane leaned in and kissed him. Even though the gesture was only vaguely familiar to Daryl, the softness of it put him at ease. And soon, Shane and Daryl were wrapped together on the bed, legs intertwined, and naked erections grinding together in a slow rhythm as they kissed.

Daryl scratched at Shane's scalp with both hands, and the boy shivered all the way down to his toes.

"Fuck, Daryl, just like that," Shane moaned, arching his hips into the body underneath his and letting the heat of their combined arousal seep into his bones. His lips moved down to Daryl's neck, sucking and biting at every inch of exposed skin, and Daryl writhed underneath him.

"Shane, Shane please..."

"Please what, man? What do you need?" Shane prodded, "Can't be your cock that needs attention. He's gettin' enough as is. You can tell me, Daryl. Tell me what you want."

Daryl's eyes slammed shut and he buried his face in Shane's shoulder, "Please, Shane?"

He felt Shane's body shake as he chuckled lightly against him, "Gotta do better than that."

"_Shane_," Daryl whimpered, when the older boy sucked sharply at his collarbone. "Please, Shane...do it... like last time...Jesus, why do ya have to make me say shit?"

This time, Shane's chuckle became a full scale laugh, and he snaked one hand between them, teasing along the inside of Daryl's thigh until a single finger stroked the boy where Shane knew he needed it most.

"This what you want, Daryl? This what you're tryin' to ask for?"

"Yeah..."

"Felt good, huh? Bet you never felt anything that good in your whole damn life."

"Shane..."

"And now you wanna ride my fingers all over again. Fuckin' greedy s'what you are. Maybe I won't let ya. Maybe I'll fuck _you_, yeah? Maybe I'll fuck my fingers into your ass 'til you come all over yourself."

"Gonna lose your fuckin' chance if ya don't get to it, already!" Daryl huffed out in embarrassment concealed by impatience. "_C'mon_, Shane."

"Aw, don't you worry darlin'. I'll take care of ya," Shane drawled thickly, earning an offended glare from the archer flushed and panting on the bed. Shane rolled over to the bedside table and rifled through the drawer, grinning lewdly when he found more than he bargained for. "Well, shit. Rick's folks are kinkier than I woulda thought."

"Wha'?" Daryl rasped curiosly, out of eye-shot.

"Just hold tight a sec," Shane called behind him, darting into the bathroom and returning with a triumphant grin several moments later. Daryl could see well enough that he had something hidden behind his back.

"Shane..." he ground out in his best resemblance of a warning.

"Got a surprise for you," Shane announced with a grin. "But I gotta get you warmed up first." And when Daryl looked anything but enthused by the idea, "Hey, I won't do nothin' ya say no to, remember? But you're gonna like it. Christ, you'll fuckin' _love _it. Just trust me."

When Daryl gave him a slight nod, Shane pulled the smaller boy to the edge of the bed, knelt in front of him, and swiftly swallowed down his leaking cock as far as it would go.

"Fuck, _Shane!_" Daryl cried out, throwing his head back and arching up off the bed. He heard the familiar click of a cap being flicked open, and a moment later, felt Shane's slick finger swirl teasingly around his entrance. Daryl bore down against him desperately, feet scrabbling for leverage against Shane's back.

Shane moaned around Daryl's throbbing member, and just as Daryl tipped his head back to let out another strangled groan, Shane slipped his finger inside. The older boy seemed to find that magic spot instantly, and began to massage it steadily. When Daryl was panting out his name with every other breath, cock twitching dangerously inside Shane's mouth, Shane pressed in a second finger.

Daryl's cock was pulsing hard, precum oozing out onto the back of Shane's tongue. So Shane popped off of the boy's swollen length, slowed down his fingers just enough that Daryl's hips bucked at the loss of friction.

"Shane, please."

"I'll get you there, man. Don't worry. But how's about that surprise now, huh? Found a vibrator in their nightstand. I want to use it on you."

Daryl propped himself up on an elbow to look at Shane properly, and his eyes immediately set on the black, phallic-shaped device laying discreetly to their left.

"S'bigger than your fingers," Daryl muttered.

"Not by as much as you think," Shane tried, "And it'll feel so fuckin' good, Daryl. Just lemme show you."

"You'll stop...if it's too much?" Daryl asked in a half-whisper.

"'Course I will," Shane replied sincerely. And when Daryl laid back against the bed complacently, Shane grabbed the vibrator with his free hand and flicked on the switch. He ran the tip slowly over Daryl's erection, from root to shiny head, making his length twitch and jerk at the sensation. Shane ran the vibrator over Daryl's nuts, watching them dance while his finger never ceased working Daryl's prostate.

One-handed, Shane managed to switch off the vibrator and lube it up. Daryl tensed up taught as the strings of his bow when he felt the plastic tip against his most intimate part, but Shane kept mouthing up and down his thighs, free hand loosely stroking him. Shane slipped the vibrator inside, and though there was a slight burn, it wasn't nearly as bad as Daryl had imagined.

The younger boy was about to ask what the big deal had been, because the toy wasn't _nearly_ as good as Shane's fingers. But then Shane flicked the little switch at the bottom of the vibrator, and Daryl's back bowed up off the bed.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he panted.

"Yeah? That good?"

"_Shane_ it's...fuck... ain't gonna last," Daryl moaned.

"Yeah, you fuckin' like that, don't you? Can see it from the way your cock's jumpin' around, leakin' all over your belly. You got any idea how fuckin' hot that is? Jesus, Daryl..." Shane clambered back up Daryl's body to kiss him, letting the vibrator continue to trill away inside.

He ground his hips into Daryl's, stroking their cocks together as they kissed. And Daryl clawed desperately at Shane's back, pulling him closer and shivering from head to toe. Shane's hips picked up speed, fucking into Daryl's warm, damp skin as he swallowing the boy's whimpering moans.

"Shane! Shane, god..." Daryl sobbed into his shoulder.

"Fuck, yeah, I'm so close man. You got me so close."

"Shane, I can't, I _can't_, oh fuck..." And abruptly, Daryl froze against him, body going rigid before he was coming between them, shooting thick ropes of white across both of their stomachs while every muscle in his body spasmed and twitched with the rough wave of pleasure. Watching Daryl come apart at the seams was enough to send Shane barreling over the edge as well, and he bucked into Daryl's body as he came hard enough to see stars.

Even in his blissed-out haze, Shane had enough sense to flick off the vibrator before pleasure turned to pain.

"That was..." Shane murmured after several minutes of crushing Daryl with his weight, "fuck." He rolled onto his side and carefully retrieved the vibrator before trotting off into the bathroom. And Daryl lay breathless and boneless until Shane returned with a damp cloth and carefully cleaned him off. All the while, Daryl watched him lazily, with one arm crooked under his head.

"M'drunk," Daryl mumbled when Shane slid into bed next to him.

"Yeah, me too man," Shane agreed with a laugh, but then his expression sobered a degree and he looked Daryl in the eye. "You regrettin' that?"

"Nah, s'just...can't drive. I'll fuckin' crash," Daryl murmured sleepily.

Shane relaxed at that, flicking off the lamp before pulling Daryl's warm body against his. "S'alright, man. We ain't goin' no where. Just sleep."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Shane woke up, rather unsurprisingly, with a pounding headache. Slightly more shocking was the warm weight of none other than Daryl Dixon draped over his body, and snoring contentedly.

It took some doing to slide out from underneath the smaller boy's body without rousing him. But after tucking the blanket up around Daryl's neck and confirming that he was still fast asleep, Shane tread quietly downstairs.

The house was wrecked, but at the very least, any lingering guests had managed to find their way home overnight.

"You're up early," Shane commented, finding Rick in the kitchen. He was struggling with the coffee machine, and visibly jumped when Shane's voice echoed from behind him.

"Not so loud!" Rick whispered harshly, then gave him a shrill smile.

"Alright, alright," Shane said under his breath, "Ya want some help with that?"

Rick nodded gratefully, and moved to sit at the table while Shane somehow managed to get the aging contraption working. After several minutes of intense concentration, Shane strode over and proudly handed him a mug of coffee, black. He sat with his own beverage, across from Rick, and they both drank in silence.

Rick's eyes darted perpetually between his lap and Shane's face, until Shane finally slammed down his mug with a degree greater force than he intended, and stared his friend down.

"_What?_" Shane growled. "Spit it out, Grimes."

"You know…ya know my room shares a wall with my folks' room, right?" Rick eventually said quietly.

Shane let out a ragged sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Did Lori hear?"

"Nah, she was sleepin'. Passed out is more like it. I was too, but then I got up to take a piss. And well…" Rick carefully set down his coffee on the table, struggling for words. "Ya coulda told me."

"I would have…eventually. S'pretty recent, with him."

"Yeah, but I mean, it sounded like- sounded like ya knew what you were doin'-"

"There hasn't been anyone else, if that's what you're gettin' at. Just girls. But you know me: I'm a natural talent."

Rick snorted, "Suppose that's true. But uh…are you sure you know what you're doin' here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the last couple years, I've never seen you stay with a girl for more than a couple of weeks. But Daryl doesn't seem like the type of guy to fuck around just for the hell of it."

"You're sayin' I'm using him," Shane accused.

"I'm sayin' you ought to be careful. How do you think he's gonna react when he finds out he's just another notch on the bedpost for you? Think he's gonna take it well? If he doesn't kill you, he could end up dead himself. Daryl ain't the type of guy you should be screwing around with."

"I'm not-!"

"Oh, come on Shane," Rick interjected, "Been friends with you as long as I can remember. And we both know that when it comes to sex, it's all a game for you. A competition to see how long it takes for you to wear a girl down and get into her pants. And I get that Daryl bein'…how he is…probably made it better, right? But m'askin' you, what happens when he figures it out?"

"There ain't nothin' to figure out, _Rick_," Shane growled. "Is that really all ya think of me?"

"I'm worried, alright? I can't pretend I'm not. If not for your sake, for _his._"

"Man, ya don't get it."

"Then explain it to me," Rick beseeched him.

"For fuck's sake, Grimes. Things with Daryl…me and him…Jesus, did ya ever think that the reason I didn't stick with any of those girls might have been 'cuz they weren't what I wanted?"

Rick stared at him blankly for a beat, "So you're uh…gay?"

"No! More like, flexible I guess. What I'm sayin' is, sometimes it's just about sex, and sometimes it ain't. Just 'cuz it hasn't happened for me before, doesn't mean I'm not _capable_, or whatever. You're talkin' like I'm some lost cause."

"You know that's not what I think," Rick said sincerely, "And I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I guess I just didn't expect…it doesn't matter, really. If it's what you want, then I'm good with it."

Shane gazed at him skeptically, "Ya sure?"

"Of course, man. Nothing's changed. Oughta be more careful though, if you're worried about people findin' out."

Shane chuckled lowly, "Yeah, we weren't thinkin' too clearly, were we?"

Rick got up from the table and set his mug down in the sink. "Well, at least one of us is gettin' some."

At that, Shane relaxed into a full-on laugh. "Yeah, and it's always me," he agreed. "Hey, ya got some Asprin?"

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane set two mugs of coffee down on the nightstand, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Daryl's curled up form. He'd noticed, over the past few days, how Daryl always curled into himself when he slept alone. It pained him to see that even in sleep, Daryl's instincts pushed him to make himself smaller, a less obvious target.

Running a hand through Daryl's messy locks, Shane couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt at the initial panic in the boy's eyes when he woke with a start. But it was consolation enough when the sight of Shane at his side had Daryl relaxing into the bed with a sigh.

"What time's it?" he rasped hoarsely.

"Not too late," Shane replied. "Brought ya some coffee. And Asprin."

Daryl gave him a small smile and sat up in bed, taking both offers gratefully.

"You feelin' alright?"

"Just hungover."

"Well, I figured that. How 'bout the rest of you?"

"Which part?"

Shane shot him a devious smirk. "Here?" he asked, ghosting a hand over Daryl's abdomen and grinning when taut muscles twitched from the slight caress.

"N-not. Not so bad," Daryl stuttered.

"And what about here?" Shane whispered, daintily picking up Daryl's injured hand and running his lips across the knuckles.

"S'healin'. I think."

"How 'bout here?" Shane asked him, trailing his fingertips from the crest of Daryl's yellowing eye to the crook of his neck, then scratching gently at the sensitive skin.

"It's…it's…" Daryl muttered brokenly, watching Shane's hand venture slowly down his body.

"And here?" Shane murmured, gently massaging the growing bulge hidden just under the covers, and relishing the look of helpless arousal Daryl shot him when he wrapped his fingers around the swollen length.

"Yeah, you're doin' much better," Shane praised, stroking him loosely before dropping his hand from Daryl's body altogether.

"Shane…" came the following whimper.

"I know, man. Gotta hold on 'til we get back to yours, though. Rick's got people comin' over to clean, and I think you and me could use a bit more privacy."

Daryl huffed out a breath in frustration and began to pull on his discarded outfit from the night before.

"Tease."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

They walked through the front door, and Shane immediately began to shed clothing. His shoes were toed off and shoved into the corner. Then his shirt, pulled over his head and deposited on the floor. Then his jeans, which he skimmed out of and kicked towards Daryl's room. It was only when he reached the door to the bathroom that he turned back around, not the least bit surprised to find Daryl trailing slowly behind him, fully clothed and looking uncertain.

"You'll feel better once you've had a shower," Shane told him, leading Daryl by his belt-loops into the bathroom.

The younger boy appeared skittish, for a moment. But then he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, and Shane helped by wrenching his jeans off of Daryl's body. Shane herded Daryl into the shower, pulling them chest to chest under the spray and groaning when the hot water hit his tired body.

Daryl grabbed the soup and began to haphazardly run it over his body. And Shane took a step back and smiled at him knowingly.

"What?" Daryl spat, exasperated.

"Y'ain't gonna make a show of it?" Shane asked innocently, and Daryl's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Quit it, Shane," he muttered, but his soapy hands slowed down incrementally.

"You're takin' all the art out of it," Shane murmured, "If you're not gonna do it properly, you oughta let me take over for you. Body like yours deserves someone who'll take their time."

Daryl froze under his gaze and shivered visibly. "Don'…don't say stuff like that."

"Why not? It's the truth," Shane said softly, slowly taking the soap from Daryl and lathering his hands. He gently grazed his slick fingers over Daryl's torso, massaging his shoulders and carefully flicking his fingertips over the boy's nipples until he trembled.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Shane went to his knees, and a gasp when dull fingernails traced the bundle of nerves on either hip, hot lips following their path. Daryl's cock was standing straight and proud; bobbing every so often, when Shane's ministrations became too much. But Shane ignored the object that demanded his attention, instead running soapy hands down each of Daryl's legs, and massaging the sore muscles.

When he stood back up, Daryl was flushed all the way down to his chest, and struggling to control his breathing.

Shane watched him carefully before softly asking, "Turn around."

It wasn't hard to spot the immediate reluctance. It was clear in the way Daryl's body went rigid and hard, face shutting down like a door slamming shut in Shane's face.

So Shane moved forward until they were skin to skin, and ran his fingers up and down Daryl's sides. "I want _all_ of you," Shane told him. And after an indecisive pause, Daryl allowed the older boy to spin him around so that he was facing the wall.

Rather than immediately go to touch Daryl's back, Shane pressed them fully together, and snaked his hands around to Daryl's chest. He kissed and nipped along Daryl's neck, murmuring into his ear, "That's not so bad, is it?"

And when Daryl failed to respond, still holding himself far too still for Shane's liking, the older boy moved to grasp his still-hard cock, stroking slowly with hands soapy and slick. Daryl's head fell back with a moan, and Shane could feel the tension evaporating from him. With his free hand, he pinched at Daryl's nipples, pet the smattering of hair across Daryl's chest, and the younger boy couldn't seem to keep his head off of Shane's broad shoulder.

Before either of them realized it was happening, Shane's hips were moving right along with Daryl's. He ground himself slowly into the perfect mounds of Daryl's ass, while the boy bucked into his fist, softly moaning with every movement. They were both panting harshly, slim hips picking up speed in desperation.

But then Shane's hands dropped from Daryl's body and he took a half-step back, pressing his forehead to the base of Daryl's neck. "Not yet," he panted, fighting for control.

With Daryl still huffing with want, Shane began to clean the boy's scarred back. They could both feel how his trembling worsened each time Shane grazed over an old scar, but Daryl didn't try to escape, and Shane did not relent. The younger Dixon managed to tolerate the touch, understanding that it was necessary. But he couldn't hide his sigh of relief when Shane's hands continued further south to knead at his glutes.

"C'mon," Shane said, "Water's getting cold."

He pushed Daryl in front of him into the bedroom, kicking the door shut hastily. Shane came up behind Daryl before the younger boy had a chance to turn, wrapping his arms around him reassuringly and rubbing his nose against his neck.

"Tell me what you want," Shane rumbled, then gasped in surprise when Daryl broke his hold and forced him onto the bed. He met Daryl's eyes, and found a hesitant fire there. Dominance desperate to be unleashed. So Shane placed his hands complacently behind his back, propping himself up on the bed and giving Daryl free reign over his body.

"Stay still," Daryl growled, and Shane nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He'd never been ordered around in bed before. Not once, aside from that fleeting moment with Daryl a few days before. But this was different, so deliberate. And Shane could feel the way his cock was twitching and leaking in anticipation.

Daryl pushed at his shoulder until Shane fell to his elbows, and stood between the jock's splayed legs. "Still," Daryl reminded him with a sharp look, before taking Shane's length in hand without the least bit of hesitation.

Daryl stroked him loosely, and Shane had to fight not to buck up into the teasing grasp. Instead, he groaned out his frustration, moaning anew when Daryl's free hand went to his balls, rolling and fondling them with an air of fascination.

Shane lay frozen as Daryl explored his body, curiously running his calloused hands over every inch of skin he could reach. And Shane took it all, fisting his hands into the sheets and panting harshly, but never once moving to touch Daryl in return.

All at once, Shane was being pulled to his feet and Daryl's mouth was melded to his. Shane pushed him back into the dresser and thrust his tongue into the younger boy's mouth, just as Daryl's free hand went fumbling for the lube. He shoved it into Shane's hand and made to head back towards the bed, but Shane pinned him where he was, spinning Daryl around so they both faced the mirror and mouthing at the back of his neck.

"I want you like this," Shane growled, "I want you to see. Fuck, say yes."

And as soon as Daryl gave that slight nod of consent, Shane's slick fingers were swirling at his entrance, then slipping inside as his free hand encompassed Daryl's cock.

"Fuck, _fuck_," Daryl panted, once Shane managed to find that little bundle of nerves they both were so fond of. He ground himself into Daryl's damp body, and the boy responded in full, catching on to Shane's rhythm and groaning loudly.

Each twist of Shane's wrist had Daryl leaking onto his hand. And the relentless massage of his fingers had the younger boy bucking backwards into Shane's body, making them both moan at the added friction.

Shane caught Daryl's eye in the mirror, and rewarded him with a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. He memorized the look on Daryl's face in that moment, the way his lips formed a perfect ring, and his eyebrows shot up in blissful surprise. "_Shane._"

"That's it, Daryl. You're so good," Shane groaned. Their pace picked up and both of them were panting harshly. "You like that? C'mon, tell me you want it, tell me…"

"Shane, fuck, fuck," Daryl panted, bucking back to meet Shane's fingers, then forward to fuck into his fist. "Harder. Do it harder."

Shane groaned deep in his chest and gnawed at Daryl's shoulder. "Yeah? You want it harder? That what you want?" He twisted his palm rapidly over the head, and Daryl's body arched and shook.

"Shane, _please_!"

"Christ, Daryl. You're so fuckin' hot," Shane muttered as he released his grip on the boy's cock to snake a hand up and across Daryl's chest and grasp him by the opposite shoulder. With his newfound hold on Daryl's body, Shane began to thrust his fingers hard and fast.

"Fuck, fuckin' hell, _aw_ fuck," Daryl moaned. Shane's hips were moving at rapid speed against him, and each movement had the dresser shaking and creaking. The older boy kicked at the inside of Daryl's leg, forcing him to spread himself wider and give Shane better access.

"You close, Daryl?" Shane murmured in his ear, and the boy shivered violently, panting open-mouthed and watching Shane watch him through the mirror. Shane wasn't paying his cock any mind, and Daryl knew that if he tried to spare a hand for the cause he'd lose his balance, but it was clearer with every thrust that he was going to come regardless.

"Yeah," Daryl moaned, "Fuck, I'm gonna- I think I'm gonna-"

"That's it, that's it. Fuck, Daryl_._"

"Oh, God. Fuck, I…_fuck_!"

And with that, Daryl cock erupted untouched, streaking the dresser with white as he shuddered and moaned. He could feel the splash of wet warmth at his back when Shane followed him soon after, groaning _his_ name into the space between his shoulder blades.

Daryl was shaking all over. And just as his legs began to give way, two strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and corralled him over to the bed, where they both collapsed contentedly.

They dozed, for some time. And the sun was low in the sky when the slam of a truck door startled Daryl awake, and immediately onto his feet.

Suddenly, the younger Dixon was pulling on clothing faster than his hands could manage, and throwing Shane's clothes at the bed. "Shane, get dressed! Now!"

"Daryl, what's wrong?" Shane asked slowly, buttoning his jeans and going for his shirt next.

"You need to get out of here," Daryl said, expressionless.

"Man, what are you talkin' about? I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes you fucking are, Shane. I don't want you here," Daryl growled. He was fumbling through the house, tidying as he went and flipping off lights, with Shane on his tail.

"Daryl, what's-?"

"What the hell don't you understand about it, Shane!? Huh? I don't want you! I'm real glad you had fun gettin' me off all weekend, but I'm better now, and I'm tellin' you to fucking _go_," Daryl spat, spinning around to face him.

"Daryl, what are you _doing_?"

"I swear to god, Shane. If you don't get out of here right fucking now, come tomorrow, everyone at school's gonna know ya like suckin' cock in your spare time. _This_," Daryl snarled, motioning between the two of them, "It meant _nothing_. I fuckin' used you s'what I did. And now I want you gone. So just fuckin' go, already!"

Somehow, Shane found himself standing at the back door, and Daryl shoved his keys into his hand. But still, he hesitated, watching Daryl closely.

"What the fuck are you waitin' for?" Daryl shouted, getting in his face. "Y'ain't wanted here. Just go!"

The front door slammed, and that's when Shane saw the flutter of panic behind Daryl's eyes, hidden beneath the veil of anger and disgust. It was brief, but it was there. And then, Shane understood just who had arrived at the Dixon household moments ago.

"Fuck that, Daryl. I'm not leavin' you with him—"

There was the thud of impact, then the sting, and then the sharp stab of pain from the already-injured side of Shane's face. One hand went to his eye in shock. Shane didn't much remember Daryl pulling back to draw, but the punch didn't hurt nearly as much as the vacant expression on Daryl's face. Before he could gather himself, Daryl had shoved him through the door and out into the cold.

"Fuck off, Shane," Daryl growled, slamming the door shut in his face.

Numbly, Shane ambled over to his car and sat down behind the wheel. His key turned in the ignition, and he began to back out of the driveway. Over the rumble of the engine, Shane thought he heard a crash from inside, followed by a scream.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Shane sat in his first period class with Rick by his side and glared at the door. He'd hardly slept the night before; not after finding the will to continue rolling down Daryl's drive way and getting his exhausted body home. Shane replayed the scene over and over in his mind, until the first rays of light were peeking through his shades. Daryl's terrified expression when the front door slammed. The anger, mingled with panic, that flashed across his face before he finally lashed out.

If Shane was being honest with himself, he was lucky that Daryl had hit him. It had left him just numb enough to overshadow his impulsive, possessive streak. Too dazed to storm back into that house to take on Will Dixon himself, and undoubtedly make things worse. Because there'd be no hiding it, then. Once Daryl's father saw what Shane would do to protect his youngest son, he'd _know._ And if he didn't succeed in killing Daryl for it, he'd certainly try.

Either way, it was best that Shane had lethargically made his way home, even if images of what Daryl might be enduring kept him awake long past the point of normality. It was for the best, he kept telling himself. It had to be. Except Shane knew now that there had been no best circumstance for Daryl last night. He knew it, even while he told himself otherwise. Because Shane was still glaring at the door angrily, worriedly, tapping his foot on the ground and his pen on the desk and fighting not to get up and leave.

Daryl was late for class.

_Why wouldn't he just listen to me? Why wouldn't he let me help him? Why-?_

The door slammed open, prompting all but Shane to startle, and in strode a carefully indifferent Daryl Dixon.

"Dixon, you're late," their teacher sighed, and Daryl gave her a halfhearted shrug. Shane didn't miss the way that small movement had Daryl struggling not to wince.

"Sorry," Daryl muttered, making his way to his seat. He barely concealed his limp.

Shane stared him down. And Daryl stared down at his desk.

It was forty minutes of torture, barely registering their teacher droning on about Charles Dickens before Daryl was bolting upright at the bell, first out of the classroom. Shane was soon after, following him down the hall and around the corner as students began to stream out and into his path. From up ahead, Shane saw Daryl dart into one of the bathrooms. It was out of the way from any of the classrooms, a place most kids went to hook up or get high. He smirked to himself at the sick sense of irony.

Shane burst through the door and did a quick scan. It was just him, and a frightened-looking Daryl. He let the door shut behind them.

"Seriously? You're hiding from me now?" were the first words out of Shane's mouth, and he instantly regretted how accusatory they sounded, even to his own ears. But goddamn it, he was _pissed_, and having to chase this dumbass through the halls hadn't helped things one bit.

"Fuck off, Shane. Just leave me alone," Daryl growled, moving to push past Shane and get to the door. But the larger boy shoved him back, an ounce too roughly, sending Daryl reeling into the sink with a sharp gasp of pain.

"We ain't finished," Shane snarled, and Daryl scowled at him.

"Yeah. We _are_," Daryl hissed. "Nurse says I'm better now. So you and me? We've got no reason to be spendin' time together. You don't owe me nothin', alright? Shit can go back to the way it was."

"You don't want that," Shane said, with a hint of doubt in his voice, and Daryl hinged onto it.

"Quit putting words in my fucking mouth, Shane! I'm done with you. We're _done._"

Shane regarded him solemnly for a moment, then took a small step towards him, eyes glimmering dangerously. "No, we're not."

He watched recognition dash across Daryl's features, crumbling his angry front. "Shane…"

The moment of hesitation was enough of an opening for Shane to grab Daryl by his shoulders and shove him into the closest stall, locking the door behind him. Daryl was immediately panicked, scratching at Shane and trying for the door, but Shane pinned him by his arms and pressing the lower halves of their bodies together.

"Just kiss me, Daryl. It's okay," Shane crooned, and snarled when the younger boy very nearly head-butted him in response.

"Stop it," Shane barked sharply, "You want this. You want this, Daryl. Don't tell me you don't." His babbling self-talk bordered on manic, and Daryl found himself struggling to breathe.

Realizing that he didn't have the strength to overpower Shane, Daryl slumped in his grasp, breathing shallow and rapid when he finally looked Shane in the eye.

"Don't do this," Daryl whispered, _pleaded_ with him. "Please, Shane."

And for all the times Daryl had begged him before, this made Shane's stomach cramp with the need to vomit. He let go of Daryl abruptly, panting a little himself and leaning against the opposite wall.

"Don't do _what_?" Shane questioned disbelievingly. "What's 'this', huh? What are you so sure I'm gonna do?"

Daryl's hand moved cautiously towards the lock again, but Shane slapped it away.

"No." Shane ground the word out, with less fire than before, but just as much determination. "Take your shirt off."

Daryl's eyes locked on his, wide with fear. He said nothing, and remained frozen.

"I'm just like_ him_, right? That's what you're saying? That's what you're thinking? Then go on, show me what he did. _Show me_." Daryl made no move to comply, so instead Shane pinned him again with an arm across his chest, and unbuttoned his shirt one-handed, ripping it open despite Daryl's protests.

Daryl didn't bother hiding himself, once all was said and done. He wilted a little against the wall, winded, and glared off to the side and down at the floor. His hands were balled into fists, as if he was waiting for the hits to start coming.

What he didn't expect was for Shane to let out a sound close to a whimper, eyes abandoning Daryl's battered torso to seek out the boy's eyes.

"Daryl," Shane said softly, moving at the same time to cup the younger boy's cheek. Daryl flinched away out of instinct, and Shane pressed a hand to his shoulder instead, rubbing slowly. "I won't hurt you. Remember?"

"Y'already did," Daryl muttered, the first words he'd managed in some time.

Shane nodded contritely. "Look at me," he demanded gently. Blue orbs snapped up to greet him, and he nearly smiled. "_I'm sorry._"

At his words, Daryl let out a deep sigh, and some of the tension in his body seemed to dissipate. So Shane let his hand migrate up to Daryl's neck, rubbing slow circles and trying to communicate with his actions what he couldn't seem to get right when he opened his damn mouth.

"Daryl…" Shane began, mouth dry, "You can't stay there anymore. Look, we can call the cops, a social worker—"

"You think I haven't tried that before? You think no one ever called the cops on him, back before he learned where to hit me so it wouldn't show?" Daryl hissed, "Whatever my Dad..._does_...those homes are worse. I've just got to ride it out, 'til I'm 18..."

"You think it'll end then? You think he'll ever just let you go?" Shane questioned desperately.

"Tell me, then! Tell me what to fucking do! You want me to put my only living parent in jail then get stuck in one of those homes where they'll either rape me, or beat me, or both? That what you want?!"

Shane's eyes went wide. "Jesus, Daryl. Is that what—?"

"No! But only 'cuz Merle got me out of there before it could happen. Those places ain't safe, Shane."

Shane paused a moment, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. When he opened his mouth next, he watched Daryl closely. "And being around your Dad is?"

The look of pained understanding in Daryl's eyes was impossible to miss.

"He's...I can handle him," the younger boy tried to justify.

"Yeah, it sure looks like you're handling him," Shane scoffed.

"I can _take it,_" Daryl insisted, and Shane moved his other hand to Daryl's shoulder, wanting as much contact with him as the boy would tolerate.

"Daryl... don't you get it? I don't want you to have to _take it_. You don't deserve this, any of it. You don't deserve to get beat up by your own fucking father, whose supposed to _protect_ you. You don't—"

"So..." Daryl cut him off, leaning his head just slightly into Shane's still-stroking hand. "So make it…better," Daryl shakily finished. His face was flushed pink with embarrassment at what he'd just let slip, but Shane only moved in closer, stroking him gently and reassuring him with his body.

Daryl wasn't even sure why he put it like that, but the more concern Shane showed for him, the more Daryl just wanted him to _stop_. Shane was pressed against him now, running his fingertips up and down his side, and Daryl couldn't help but moan in relief. _This_ was something he understood. All those words, but this was so much easier for him to tolerate. He tilted his head up towards Shane invitingly, and the older boy took the chance to cautiously meld their lips together.

Even with Daryl hard and pushed up against him, Shane was being so careful about everything. His lips migrated from Daryl's mouth down to his neck, then suckled gently at his collar bone. It was not enough, and too much. And Daryl might have cried out his frustration at the entire situation, but he knew that could only end in more talking, and he wasn't about to let that happen. So Daryl let Shane make his way slowly down his chest, watching his face for the smallest sign of discomfort.

Shane took a nipple into his mouth, sucked hard, then soft, and bit lightly at the reddened bud. Daryl hissed and arched up off the wall, pleading with his body, rather than his traitorous tongue. And Shane rewarded him by slowly massaging the bulge in his jeans, then paying the same attention to the opposite nipple. He kissed languidly down Daryl's sternum, until the younger boy was panting roughly up towards the ceiling. Daryl's head was tilted back, as if watching what Shane was doing to him, and feeling it all at once, was just too much to bear.

But then Shane's lips met the first of Daryl's bruises, and every muscle seized up in fear.

"Shh," Shane tried to soothe him, "Won't hurt you."

Shane knelt in front of him, head even with Daryl's belly button, and pressed a feather-light kiss to a particularly ugly gash. The area around it was all purple and red, and the wound itself was hardly healed enough to keep from bleeding, but Shane kissed it all the same. And when no pain followed, Daryl couldn't help the deep sigh of relief that left him in a groaning rush.

Daryl couldn't understand why Shane even _wanted_ to touch him at the moment, marked up as he was. Dried blood was still streaked over various patches of blotchy skin, but Shane's lips never stopped, caressing every inch of his beaten body without the slightest hint of disgust.

_It should hurt_, something deep in Daryl's mind reminded him eagerly. And it _should_ have hurt; it always had before. But every fluttering touch felt better than the last, to the point where Shane's hands had wandered possessively to Daryl's hips, keeping him standing when his legs began to shake.

"Shane, please…" Daryl murmured, trying to keep his voice from trembling along with his body. He didn't succeed, and Shane's eyes shot up to his, questioning. But how could Daryl explain that even without Shane's hands touching him where he _thought_ he needed it the most, his body was caving towards bright, hot release. He couldn't make the words come, or even express it in his own mind. Not when the gentle way Shane was touching him and the affection in his eyes had Daryl fighting back tears. He blinked rapidly, hoping to god that Shane hadn't seen.

"It's okay," Shane said, and Daryl's cheeks burned for a moment of paralyzing fear, before Shane followed with, "I've got you. Just gotta be quiet."

Daryl nodded, and gnawed at his lower lip. He watched Shane easily unzip his fly, pulling Daryl's length to his mouth before the younger boy had realized just where this was going.

Wet heat surrounded him, and Daryl moaned through his teeth. "Oh fuck, Shane."

The older boy was wasting no time, building a steady rhythm and following his mouth's movements with one hand, while the other went to roll and cup Daryl's balls.

"I'm not gonna…I can't…" Daryl moaned, fisting his hands into Shane's hair.

Shane moved to palm Daryl's ass, encouraging him to buck forwards and meet Shane's motions. Daryl's whole body was on fire. A bright ball of pleasure overshadowing every ounce of pain, dull and searing alike.

"So close, fuck I'm so close," Daryl groaned. He watched his glistening cock disappear into Shane's mouth, and moaned again when Shane's eyes darted up to his, dark with arousal. The fact that it was _Shane_ doing this to him made it so much better. On his knees in a goddamn bathroom stall with Daryl's cock in his mouth because he wanted to.

Shane wanted _him._

Shane _wanted_ him.

For the first time, those words truly hit home. Daryl's body tensed taut as wire, and in that moment he was gone.

Shane growled possessively around his length, and Daryl cried out far louder than he should have when his orgasm hit. His hips thrust forward of their own accord, and Daryl lost his footing. One hand slammed into the opposite wall, and the other held Shane steady as he came hard down the older boy's throat, trying and failing at stifling his groans.

He was still shaking from head to toe when Shane tucked him away and went to stand, maneuvering him so he was leaning against the wall again.

Shane smirked at him, "That good, huh?"

"Shut up," Daryl huffed, but he cracked a grateful smile. "You didn't…you want me to…?"

"Nah, I'm good," Shane said, and a light went off in Daryl's mind.

"Ya know, normal people just apologize," Daryl said, but he was still smiling, and Shane grinned right back.

"Yeah, well, I tried that. But you didn't seem to believe me," Shane bit back playfully.

A bell rang from out in the hallway, and Daryl snorted out a laugh. "Guess we skipped P.E."

Shane cocked an eyebrow at him, "I don't know about that. Think the two of us worked up a real sweat."

"Stop," Daryl deadpanned. He haphazardly buttoned his shirt and jeans, and shouldered his backpack. His hair was sticking up in all the wrong places, and he was out the door before Shane could move to stop him. He hastily followed Daryl out into the hallway.

Just behind him, and in a low enough voice that only Daryl would hear, Shane whispered, "Just so ya know, ya look thoroughly fucked."

Daryl stopped in his tracks, pawing frantically at his hair. Shane heard him curse under his breath when he realized that his shirt was done up wrong too. He continued by, chuckling to himself, and leaving Daryl to handle the clean-up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Daryl was tempted to shoot himself in the foot when he was paired up with Rick for lab. He'd known as soon as Grimes looked at him that the bastard knew. He had to, from the way he smirked as Daryl trudged over to their shared desk.

"Let's just get on with it, then," Daryl muttered as he sat down, glowering in return. He let Rick take the lead, mixing various chemicals together and noting the reactions. Chemistry hardly ever held Daryl's attention, and today was no different. He was a hands-on type of guy, and following the directions on a page didn't sit too well with him.

It was hardly five minutes before Rick just couldn't contain himself.

"Saw ya limpin', when you came into class this morning," Rick said conversationally.

"Yup," Daryl responded, offering no elaboration whatsoever.

"You and Shane get in another fight?" Rick tried.

"No."

"Right, I thought maybe ya might have."

"We didn't."

"Well then what-?"

"Can you mind your own damn business, Grimes?" Daryl growled, cutting him off.

Rick's eyes widened in shock. "Yeah, sorry. Sorry."

They dissolved into tense silence.

Abruptly, Rick slammed down a beaker with far too much force, the sharp crack echoing throughout the classroom and causing a dozen heads to swivel back to look at them.

"What the _fuck_ Grimes?" Daryl immediately hissed under his breath. The rest of the class turned back towards the board.

"Daryl, Shane didn't…you'd _tell me_ if he…Christ! Shane didn't hurt you, did he?"

"For fuck's sake, I just told you. _No._"

"Not in a fight. I mean the two of you…did he hurt you when he…Jesus, alright, _I know about you guys, _okay_?_" Rick whispered.

Daryl's cheeks lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. "Keep you're fuckin' voice down, Grimes," Daryl snarled. They were speaking to each other so softly already that they had to struggle to listen, but Daryl wasn't willing to take any chances.

"Look, Shane told me, okay? Kind of…overheard you two the night of the party. And I'm fine with it, really. But if Shane's hurting you, you've got to tell me, alright? We can figure it out."

Daryl's hands curled into fists under the table. He tapped his heel roughly against the ground, trying to materialize his frustration. "I already _told _you, Grimes. Shane didn't do it. He ain't like that. Now are you gonna drop this or are we gonna have to go outside and work this thing out?"

Rick noticeably stiffened in his chair, turning his body minutely away from Daryl.

"Sorry," Rick whispered, after a brief silence.

"Rick…"

"I really am fine with you two. It's just I know how he can be. And the two of you had been at each other's throats up until recently; you can understand why it'd be an adjustment."

"I swear to God…"

"And I mean, it was _kind of_ a surprise. Seeing as he likes to call himself the king of pussy, and you're…you. And I guess I figured that if he swung like that, it'd be _me_ he'd go after."

There was a sharp intake of breath from his left, and when Rick looked over to Daryl, he saw that the boy was shaking noticeably, hands balled into fists under the desk. _He's jealous_, Rick realized quite suddenly.

"I'm kidding!" Rick quickly assured him, trying to mend the situation. "I was just kidding, I swear…"

"Do me a favor, Grimes, and stop fuckin' talking," Daryl muttered.

"Shane's not my type, anyways," Rick said with a smirk.

"Jesus Christ…"

"But hey," Rick grasped Daryl by the shoulder, snatching his hand back when Daryl tensed like he'd been struck then shot him a death glare.

"Listen," he tried again, with Daryl's full attention. "I get why you don't want anyone to know about it. It's none of their business; and I'm not going to tell anyone, okay? I promise you that. But if you ever need to talk, I'm here to listen. And I know you probably want to tell me to fuck off again, but I'm serious Daryl. Sometimes you need to talk something out to make sense of it in your head. Don't think that just because what you two have is…_private_, that you can't ever talk about it. You're allowed to. And you'll probably need to, eventually. Hell, I've talked Shane's ear off about Lori more times than I can count, and me and her ain't hiding nothing. All I'm saying here is you can come to me with it."

"Alright, alright," Daryl mumbled with a sigh. "I get it. And I will…if it comes to that." He looked Rick in the eye. "Thanks."

Rick shot him a smile, "No problem." He turned back towards the desk. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think this shit was supposed to turn blue."

Daryl snorted unwittingly, and cracked an easy grin. "Don't look at me, man."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When Daryl traipsed gratefully out of school at the last bell, he found Shane leaning up against his truck. _Again._

"Haven't ya learned your damn lesson?" Daryl drawled, throwing his backpack into the truck bed, but his tone was teasing.

"Apparently not," Shane replied smugly.

"Well, s'there any particular reason you're muckin' up my truck, then?"

Shane didn't answer right away, prompting Daryl to turn back around and look him in the eye.

"You eat yet today?" Shane asked him, and got his answer when Daryl's eyes darted right to the ground.

"Well alright then," Shane said in an easy tone, pulling Daryl back from the brink of overwhelming embarrassment, "How about the two of us head back to my place then?"

"Shane, ya don't gotta…"

"Thing is, Rick drove me to school today," Shane said, cutting him off, "So I need the ride anyways. Figure a meal's the least I can do, for you drivin' out of your way and all."

It was a blatant lie, but Shane said it with just enough conviction. Daryl bit at his lip, and then nodded curtly. "Yeah, alright. Get in."

Shane shot him a victorious grin and jumped into the passenger side, nearly impaling himself on an arrow.

"Shit!" he cursed, pulling it out from under him. Daryl's crossbow was propped in between them. "You always keep that bow on ya?" Shane asked, as they drove.

"Pretty much," Daryl replied. He frowned a little at Shane's question, as if the answer was so obvious it didn't merit a response.

"Who taught you?"

"Merle, mostly," Daryl said, "Soon as I was big enough to hold it up properly."

"How old was that?"

"Eight or nine, I guess. With some help, back then. Not after a couple years." Daryl's eyes shot nervously over to Shane, and found the older boy watching him closely. "What?" he spat, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Nothing," Shane immediately said, "I'm just…tryin' to picture what you'd be like, if things were different."

"What things?"

"Your family. I mean if you and me swapped places, back when we were kids, I wonder if I'd be able to take care of myself as well as you do. If you'd be a jock. That sort of thing."

"Ain't no sense in wondering," Daryl said quietly, "Things are the way they are."

Shane's chest tightened painfully, and he could see from the way that Daryl was holding himself that he didn't want the conversation to continue. The jock plastered on a smile, determined to lighten the mood."Guess so. Hard to imagine I'd be any good with a bow."

Daryl snorted a laugh, visibly relaxing. "Judgin' by the one time I let ya come huntin' with me, I'd say no. Probably shoot yourself in the ass and scare away all the game in Georgia."

"Hey now, I wasn't that bad. Saved _your_ ass, didn't I?" Shane teased.

"That ain't how I remember it," Daryl replied, trying to hide his grin.

"Oh, really?" Shane laughed. "And how do you remember it, then?"

"All I did was go for a swim. And seein' me all wet got ya so damn hot, ya near dragged me home. Begged me the whole way to get my clothes off. Ain't my fault you're such a perv."

They pulled up in front of Shane's house. "Yeah well, why don't' ya get that firm little ass of yours inside, and I can show ya how pervy I am."

Daryl blushed plainly, and hopped hastily out of the cab with Shane close on his tail. Once Shane had unlocked the door, Daryl wandered inside. He hadn't been to Shane's house since he was a kid, just once after Shane had moved to a different neighborhood. But he remembered the layout alright, and managed to make his way successfully to Shane's room.

He threw his backpack to the ground and sat down gingerly on Shane's bed, still mindful of his injuries. Daryl looked up through his bangs at Shane. "So what'd you wanna-?"

Shane cut him off with a kiss. It wasn't as hungry as Daryl expected. None of that heat and desperation he'd fallen victim in the weekend they'd spent together. Instead, Shane kissed him slowly. Tenderly. Careful to bookmark every small sigh and slight expression from the younger boy, and on the constant lookout for any sign of discomfort.

"Ain't gonna break," Daryl huffed when Shane pressed their foreheads together.

"S'what you say," Shane drawled, "But I ain't takin' any chances."

"Don't gotta baby me. M'fine," Daryl carped, but there wasn't much force behind it.

"Hey." Shane demanded his attention, grasping him by the jaw. "_Fuck that_. Ain't gonna have you getting hurt worse 'cuz of me."

Daryl gave him a small nod of understanding, his features easing from their defiant mould.

"Seen your chest," Shane mused, "What about the rest of you?"

Daryl scrunched up his nose in discomfort, then forced his body to relax, and let out a ragged sigh. "Was just my chest and my middle this time, mostly. Stomped on my knee pretty good, s'why I was limpin'."

Shane's jaw was tense, and Daryl could tell he was trying to hold back another outburst. "How 'bout your back?" he instead questioned.

"S'fine," Daryl mumbled.

"And the rest of you?"

"Rest of me's fine. Like I said."

Shane crouched in front of him, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, how 'bout you let me give you a massage then?"

The suggestion clearly took Daryl by surprise. "You wanna…why? That doesn't do nothin' for ya."

"Dixon, if you ain't noticed yet that I get off on touchin' you, then you ain't been payin' too good attention," Shane said with a smirk.

He watched Daryl bite nervously at his lip. "And I bet you've never gotten one before….It'll feel good, alright? I know what I'm doin'- had the guy who does PT for the team work on me a few times. Lemme do the same for you."

Shane moved his hands to Daryl's shirt, and watched his eyes for any sign of panic. When he saw none, he slowly undid the buttons, slipping the thin piece of fabric from Daryl's body and revealing the gory mess beneath. He took Daryl by either elbow and gently pulled him to his feet.

"Let's get these pants off too, yeah?"

Shane knelt in front of him, pulling off Daryl's boots, and socks, then ridding him of the rest of his clothing. And Daryl watched him curiously the whole time, not entirely relaxed, but allowing Shane to do as he wished.

It was only once he was standing completely bare in front of an entirely clothed Shane that Daryl began to feel self-conscious. But the older boy gave him no time to put up a fuss, leading him back towards the bed and urging him to lay on his stomach, with two pillows propped underneath his middle.

Shane hurriedly pulled off his clothing too, mumbling something overtly sexual, and claiming he didn't want to get himself all oily. Daryl watched him pull a small tube out of his duffel bag, then crawl over to him on the bed. It smelled like lavender. He poured some of the liquid into his hands, rubbing them together.

"Don't worry, I'll warm it up for you," Shane told him with a grin, though Daryl continued to watch him warily.

He pressed his hands firmly to Daryl's back and began to slowly work his shoulders. The smaller boy gasped audibly, and his body went tight. Shane knew that being touched like this was still new to him, and didn't take offense at Daryl's hesitance.

"Relax," Shane murmured, "Think you can do that for me?"

He got a grumble muffled by the sheets in response, but Shane's hands never relented. And soon he could feel the tension slowly evaporate from Daryl's body, replaced by soft sighs and softer skin as Shane worked over his sore muscles. Daryl's breathing became slow and steady, matching Shane's, and the older boy worked his way from the younger boy's shoulders all the way down to the pads of his feet, and back again.

Shane paid special attention to Daryl's glutes, working at the orbs of unadulterated muscle with his knuckles and relishing the grateful groan.

"Told you I was good, didn't I?" Shane said with a chuckle. His slick fingers grazed between Daryl's cheeks, just skimming over the pink pucker, and Daryl's body gave an involuntary jolt.

"Fuck," he sighed in one gushing breath. And when Shane couldn't decide whether it was a good sigh or bad, he let his fingers trail lower, rolling and cupping Daryl's balls with one hand.

Daryl let out a soft moan, so Shane's fingers went back to his ass, circling with a single digit.

"Do you want me to?" Shane murmured. Daryl turned his head to the side, not quite able to look Shane in the eye, but freeing his mouth to speak.

"Mm," he grunted in the affirmative, and Shane was more than sure that Daryl was on board just by the drowsy, contented expression on his face. The soft smile made Shane flare with possessive pride. _He trusts me enough to let me touch him. He trusts me enough to _relax _when I touch him._

Daryl's legs parted minutely, either consciously or unconsciously, and with a hand on the boy's lower back, Shane slid a finger inside. It took even less time than usual for Daryl to settle into it. One finger became two, and Daryl was rocking gently back against Shane's hand, panting into the sheets. They were both covered in oil and sweat.

One of Daryl's hands was fisted in the sheets. And as Shane continued to gently massage that spot inside him, his free hand slid to encompass Daryl's, pressing softly. Daryl's eyes blinked open to look at him, and Shane felt him clench around him, letting out a little gasp. Shane rubbed that spot just a little bit harder, and Daryl's hips bucked, grinding his cock into the sheets underneath him with a quiet whine.

"Fuck, you could come just from this, couldn't you?" Shane murmured, watching him.

Daryl squirmed a little beneath him. "Don't want to."

"Yeah? What do you want, then?" Shane asked him, genuinely curious. He pulled his fingers away, sitting back on his heels. "Why don't you flip over, yeah? You can show me what you want."

With a small, disgruntled groan, Daryl complied. He flipped onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows and eyeing Shane's body. The larger boy was shiny with oil, muscles jutting out attractively, and Daryl's cock twitched at the sight. He blushed deeply when he realized Shane had noticed.

"Like what you see, huh?" Shane teased lightly. "That's good. You're supposed to. 'Cuz I think I'm liking you all slicked up even more."

Daryl frowned, eyes darting towards the ground.

"What?" Shane softly questioned.

"Don't see why ya always gotta go on like that. No need to butter me up. I'm here, ain't I?"

Shane moved a little closer to him, grazing his fingers over Daryl's side. "I'm not buttering you up. I say it 'cuz it's true. 'Cuz I like looking at you, and touching you, and I want you to know it."

"I don't look like _you_," Daryl said pointedly.

Shane barked out a laugh. "Well while I am one sexy motherfucker, I ain't so conceited that I'd want to fuck myself."

Daryl's expression turned sober. "S'not what I meant, Shane. My body's all fucked up. Ya don't gotta pretend to like it."

Shane shook his head with a sigh and abruptly pressed his lips to Daryl's, tongue exploding into the younger boy's mouth and dominating him.

"Stop," Shane demanded when he pulled away for air. Daryl was panting hot breaths against his lips. "If I say I want you, if I say I like how you look, don't question that. You're fuckin' sexy, alright? There ain't no way around it. And I don't wanna have this argument every time I stop to take in the view. Ain't gonna lie to you 'bout this, Daryl. And if you're still not sure, maybe you oughta take into account how fucking _hard_ I am right now, just being near you."

Shane sat straddling Daryl's legs, eyes boring into the younger Dixon's face and watching him gnaw at his lower lip.

"You are pretty hard," Daryl finally murmured, looking up at Shane through the wisps of his hair.

"Damn straight," Shane replied with a grin.

Daryl's fingers twitched at his side, but then he took a steadying breath, and raised a hand to Shane's chest. He left it there, for a moment. Feeling the way Shane's heartbeat picked up when he touched him. It gave Daryl a rush knowing he could have that affect on anyone, especially someone like Shane.

He grazed the palm of his hand slowly down the smooth plane of Shane's stomach, and traced the solid line of his hip bones, which pointed salaciously inwards. When Daryl finally stroked him once, from root to tip, Shane fell forward onto one hand, moaning obscenely.

"Bet I can make you go off first," Daryl said, a dangerous glint in his eye. He stroked Shane with a steady rhythm now, fist twisting over the head with each downward pass.

"Fuck, I don't doubt it," Shane panted. Daryl pulled until Shane was propped over him again.

"Ain't much of a competition if you don't even try," Daryl drawled, more flirtatious than Shane had ever heard him.

He groaned lowly, and slipped a hand between Daryl's legs. But concentrating on the task was so much more difficult with Daryl touching him like he was. Shane resumed his slow fingering, and Daryl threw his head back in a moan.

Every stroke over his prostate had Daryl's cock twitching against his stomach, and leaking visibly.

"Jesus, look how much you want me," Shane crooned. "You get so fuckin' hard for my fingers in your ass, don't you Daryl?"

Daryl brought a second hand to Shane's body, fisting his heavy cock two-handed in retaliation. Shane jumped and moaned, rutting into the firm grasp.

"Not as hard as you get for it," Daryl panted victoriously, "S'like you said. You want me. Can't even help yourself."

Shane's free hand slammed forward by Daryl's head, and Shane groaned from deep in his chest.

"I can't. I really fuckin' can't," Shane huffed. Daryl's head snapped up, kissing him deeply. A sharp nip to Shane's lower lip, and he was trembling. "Fuck, Daryl. I can't stop with you. Can never fuckin' stop."

He pressed his fingers harder into Daryl's body, hoping the smaller boy was as close as he was. One of Daryl's slick hands left his cock, journeying back towards his balls and toying with them briefly, then back farther still. A long digit pressed brazenly at his entrance, and Shane lost it.

"Daryl!" he moaned, hardly able to gasp in a full breath as he exploded between them, shooting thick ropes of come over the younger boy's chest.

Daryl worked him through his orgasm, and mid-way through, Shane had the sense of mind to sit back on his heels and grab Daryl's cock with his now-free hand. He plunged a third finger inside, crooking upwards to prod vigorously at that spot, and simultaneously twisted his fist over Daryl's slicked up cock. With a gasp, Daryl fell over the edge, a moan choked off in his throat as he came all over his own chest.

He collapsed bonelessly next to Shane's equally spent body, sated and exhausted. When Daryl eventually awoke, the sun was waning in the sky, and he was alone in Shane's bed. But he could smell food cooking, so Daryl padded quietly downstairs and into the kitchen.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, and Shane startled noticeably.

"Jesus, you're quiet," Shane breathed, turning around with a grin. "Spaghetti and meatballs. Sound good?"

"Hell yeah," Daryl replied, smiling. He moved over to the counter by the stove, sitting on the cool marble top and watching Shane work. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, man. Anything."

Daryl bit nervously at his thumb. "Today…you woulda stopped, right? Even if I hadn't freaked out like I did, you still woulda stopped?"

Shane put down the spoon he was holding and looked up at Daryl. "I…honestly? I don't know. I hope I would have. Sometimes people say shit to me and I just don't hear it. I think you know that. But I _did_ stop. And I'm sorry, Daryl. I really fucking am."

Daryl nodded contemplatively. "Has somethin' like that happened before?"

"Not as bad as today, no. But I mean, can't say there ain't been girls who've put up a fuss only to change their tune with a little persuassion."

"You've been with a lot of them, huh?"

"Girls? Yeah, but I'm clean, if that's what you're worrying about."

Daryl peered at him cautiously. "S'not that. S'just, I ain't a girl."

Shane chuckled briefly. "Yeah, that's kinda what I like about ya."

"But are you sure that this is what…sure that I'm…?"

"What I want? Enough?" Shane finished for him, "Yeah, I'm sure. Pretty fuckin' positive, actually."

Daryl seemed to accept that answer, bobbing his head in understanding. "Okay. Then you've gotta understand something." He waited until Shane was looking him in the eye once more. "What happened today, that can't happen again. You ever try to corner me like that, force me into something again; one of us will get hurt. And it'll be _you_, Shane. You get me?"

Daryl's voice was soft, none of that aggression and drama he forced into it when he was trying to seem tough. No, this threat was real, as solid as Daryl's fist connecting with his jaw the night before.

"You don't have to worry about that, from me. I swear, okay? I'm not like _him_." Shane pressed his body to the counter astride Daryl, wary of caging him in. "I gotta ask you, though. If you're serious, then why are you still here? I want you to be. Jesus, I _really_ want you to be. But I can't say I ain't confused."

Daryl gave a small shrug. "These days, you make me feel good a hell of a lot more than ya make me feel bad. That's not worth losin' over one mistake. And anyways, ya may have gone about it the wrong way, but I know you were just worried 'bout me."

Shane huffed out a laugh. "You're right about that. We good, then?"

"Yeah, we're good," Daryl said with a smirk, getting up to set the table. He said the next part so softly that Shane almost didn't hear him at all. "Anyways, s'nice to have someone worrying."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Fuck, fuck Shane, someone's gonna see," Daryl hissed desperately, slamming his head back against the brick wall when Shane's tongue darted out to swipe over that spot that always made his head swim with pleasure.

"You best get off quick then," Shane drawled. His eyes sparkled with challenge as he sucked the head of Daryl's cock back into his mouth.

From just around the corner, the low hum of the cheerleader's midday practice could be heard clear as day. And yes, maybe they were skipping P.E. for perhaps the fifth time in the last few weeks to hook up for the third time that day. And sure, maybe their chosen locale on this occasion hadn't been particularly well thought-out. But that didn't mean Daryl was ready to have the whole school watch him get his dick sucked, or for _anyone_ to find out just who was doing the sucking.

Shane's mouth formed a tight seal around Daryl's aching cock. The warm, wet, heat of his damp lips gliding over feverish skin had Daryl's knees buckling. And the fear of being caught made Daryl's heartbeat race like never before, one hand gripping Shane's shoulder like a vice to keep himself standing.

A group of girls walked into the school via the double-doors around the corner from where he and Shane were hidden. Their giggles and idle chit-chat rang out clear as a bell, and even though the wall Daryl was leaning against had no windows, and looked out onto an empty lot, he couldn't help but feel nervous. The panic of hearing their footsteps mingled with Daryl's arousal, heightening it.

He knew he was leaking like a faucet under Shane's expert tongue, but the older boy didn't seem to mind. Even more so, Shane didn't seem the least bit bothered by the openness of their position, nor the sharp clank of those double-doors slamming shut intermittently as teens shuffled in and out of the building. Risky summed it up best; but a risk that was well worth it.

And at the end of the day, "worth the risk" could have been the slogan of his and Shane's relationship, if Daryl were to pick one. They met up behind the bleachers, in abandoned bathrooms, and vacant classrooms. They made out in Daryl's truck, or Shane's. On nights when the temperature didn't drop below freezing, they laid out by the pond in which Daryl had so nearly drowned. And most every night, they slept together in Shane's bed.

On the few evenings that Shane's mother wasn't working the late shift, and therefore spending the night at home, Daryl would tell Shane he was going to sleep back at his place. He'd get in his truck and barrel on down the road in the direction of his decrepit neighborhood. But at the last moment, he'd veer off towards the woods, park on the side of the road, and sleep wrapped up in an old blanket across the truck's vinyl seating. He'd been keeping a few spare sets of clothing in the back of his truck for weeks now, and hadn't stepped foot in his house in much longer than that.

Maybe Shane didn't really understand why Daryl did the things he did. Certainly couldn't fully comprehend why Daryl refused to go to the police, or why he hid his scars like they were marks of shame rather than badges of courage. But Shane had been right about one very important thing: his home wasn't safe anymore. And even if Daryl still wouldn't admit it aloud, he knew better, now, than to willingly place himself in the line of his father's fire.

Instead, Daryl slept shivering in his truck, on those few nights where he couldn't stay at Shane's instead. The older boy had mentioned more than once now that he ought to just _tell_ his mother about Daryl. His mother, and just her, so at least they wouldn't have to hide in Shane's own home. But Daryl turned him down firmly and repeatedly, fearing the slippery slope of that truth.

Rick knowing was one thing. He was trustworthy and solid, and even Daryl knew that Rick would never let their secret slip. But if Shane's mother found out, then this thing they had would be real and alive. If she objected, she might take away the one good thing in Daryl's life. And even if she gave Daryl and Shane her stamp of approval, happy lips run loose, and it would only take one absent-minded comment to bring his life crumbling down.

Shane's hand went to Daryl's nuts, rolling them gently in his palm and squeezing them up towards the younger boy's body as he plummeted towards release. Daryl was biting hard enough at his lower lip to make it bleed, trying his best to remain silent when every fiber of his being wanted to shout out his pleasure in a whimpering moan.

"Shane, Shane, I'm gonna…" he whispered hurriedly, fingers digging into Shane's shoulder blade.

The bell marking the end of the period rang out from the school and across the yard. And just on cue, Daryl went over the edge with a loud grunt, panting with his head thrown back as Shane swallowed him down. Shane continued to suckle at him, tongue laving every last trace of his seed until it all became too much and Daryl pulled sharply at Shane's unruly hair. Shane released him with a pop, grinning at the sweaty, sated boy victoriously.

He hopped easily to his feet, helping Daryl to put himself back together. Just before they rounded the corner to head back to class, Shane thought better of it, and shoved Daryl back against the brick wall, melding their mouths together. Daryl tasted himself on Shane's tongue, and found that the slightly bitter taste wasn't nearly as bad as he would have thought. He allowed Shane to pin him there for a moment more. And then with a buck of his hips and a nod of his head, Daryl indicated wordlessly that they ought to get going.

Shane smiled softly at him again; his hand in Daryl's hair migrated south to run gently over his neck in the gesture of affection he and Daryl so frequently used these days.

"Go on, then," Shane murmured, allowing Daryl enough room to push past him. He waited a few seconds more before following him inside.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane had football practice after school today, and a game after that. And even though Daryl had been putting off a trip home to retrieve the clothing and books he'd left behind, he knew there was no better time than when Shane was fully preoccupied.

But still, he wasn't going to be a dumbass about it. Daryl drove by his dad's garage first, noting that his battered old truck was sitting in the dirt lot outside. And when he arrived at his childhood home, he moved swiftly. Daryl shoveled clothing into his bag without looking, ears at constant attention.

He was reaching under the couch for the Algebra book he _knew_ had to be under there, when Daryl heard his father's truck roll up behind him. He jumped to his feet, startled. And when the front door slammed with far more force than was necessary, Daryl figured his father had been sent home from work for showing up drunk. Again.

"Well look whose finally showin' his fuckin' face," his father drawled when he saw him. And that probably surprised Daryl more than anything, because in no stretch of his imagination did he figure that his dad would notice his absence.

Daryl remained silent. Over the years, he'd learned that that was the easiest way.

"Been seein' your truck across town, boy. You finally gettin' your prick wet? Been fuckin' some stuck-up rich bitch? Bet she thinks it's a real rush, getting down and dirty with the likes of you. You know you're just a fuckin' piece 'a charity to her. Some pity-fuck for the poor, dumbass redneck. Ain't no rich bitch who'd ever give a fuck 'bout a worthless piece of shit like you," his father spat. A bottle of southern comfort dangled precariously from his left hand, and he raised it up to take another long draw.

"You answer me when I'm speakin' to you, boy!" his father abruptly shouted. "You finally gettin' that sorry excuse for a dick wet?"

Daryl shook his head, arms crossing protectively over his chest. He wanted to tell his dad that things with Shane weren't like that. Shane _cared _about him; he knew that much for sure. It wasn't about pity. Shane wanted him, really fucking wanted him. Daryl wanted to say all those things.

Instead, he looked his father right in the eye and said clear as day, "Fuck. You."

Daryl tried to memorize the outraged shock on his father's face, tried to hold onto that spark of pride and satisfaction for what came next.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Daryl didn't remember much about the walk.

He remembered stumbling a few times. Being brought to his knees, only to heave himself forward, drawing upon strength he hadn't known he'd possessed. He moved on auto-pilot. Unthinking, aside from the brief moment when he bitterly mused that he was leaving one hell of an obvious trail.

It was dark, and Shane's house was even darker. Shane wasn't picking up his phone, and when Daryl rapped his knuckles on the back door, the windows remained dark, and no one answered.

Daryl wasn't so sure how he ended up at Rick's door next. But he was lucid enough to register the horror on Rick's face when he answered on the fourth ring of the doorbell.

"Jesus, Daryl what happened?" Rick asked in a rush, "Did Shane…?"

Daryl stared down at the ground blankly, but shook his head. No, not Shane.

"I…I d-didn't know where to go," Daryl mumbled at Rick's feet, "Just…need someplace to stay t'night."

"Christ, Daryl, of course you can. Just get inside, alright? C'mon."

Rick thought better of reaching out to physically guide Daryl in. Alternatively, he stood aside, allowing Daryl entry. The hunter followed Rick sullenly into the kitchen.

"Just wait here a second, okay?" Rick asked him. He didn't get a reply, and he was gone a minute later.

Daryl finally allowed himself to collapse onto the floor, pressing his side into the cabinets and letting his eyes fall shut. He must have been more out of it than he thought, because he didn't register three sets of feet trekking back into the room until they were crowded around him, leaning in.

He jumped when Rick's mom went to touch him, cowering away from her and further into the corner.

"Daryl, we just want to help you. No one here's going to hurt you, alright?" she told him in a low, soothing voice.

They stood all around him, caging him in. And Daryl knew he was trembling noticeably now, but he couldn't get a hold on it. Maybe it made him a pussy, but he couldn't take this. Not now.

"M'fine," he tried to mumble, surprising himself when the words came out slurred. _Must have lost more blood than I thought_, he considered vaguely. "Just…just need Shane." He looked to Rick, "Where's Shane?"

Rick crouched down beside him, and Daryl jolted away again, hissing in pain unwittingly.

"He's got an away-game tonight, remember?" Rick told him slowly, "I left him a bunch of messages; he knows to come here as soon as he gets his hands on his phone. But Daryl, you've got to let us help, okay? You can't see yourself right now. Wherever the blood's coming from, it hasn't stopped and—"

"No. No," Daryl insisted, his voice coming out much shakier than he intended, "Just need Shane. Just find Shane, Rick. Please."

Rick looked back up to his parents, lost and distressed, and his father motioned for the two of them to give him and Daryl some room. He crouched down to Daryl's level, keeping a healthy distance between them.

"Daryl, we need to know what happened," Rick's father began. "You're hurt, you understand? And if you don't tell us where, and how this went down, then we won't know how to help you."

Daryl peeked up at him from beneath his sweaty bangs. "You're the sherriff," he mumbled.

"I am. And I'm going to help you, Daryl, I promise."

"You can't."

"I will, Daryl. I promise I will. Let's start with what happened. You say it wasn't Shane. Did you get in a fight with someone else? Kids from school?"

Daryl glared dourly at the ground, fighting to breathe regularly. Rick's father was watching him closely, as if his battered body was providing all the answers.

"Did it happen at home, then? Your dad?"

Daryl couldn't bite back the way he flinched at the memory, still too raw and too recent. He shouldn't have felt such honest surprise that Rick's father had guessed so easily. Will Dixon's drinking problem was no secret around town, and he had a temper with or without the help of the bottle. Still, it hurt to hear it out loud. In such obvious terms that Daryl had to wonder why no one had put it together before. Or if they had, why no one had stopped it.

"You can't say anythin'," Daryl bit out in a rush, "Please. Please don't call it in. I'll mow your lawn for a year if I've gotta. But ya can't tell no one, okay? Don't do that to me."

"Hey, hey, calm down," the Sheriff said gently, "Does it look like I'm calling anyone? You don't need to worry about that right now. All I need is for you to tell me what he did, so we know where you're hurt. Do you think you can do that?"

But Daryl had already shut back down, eyes trailed on the floor and face expressionless.

"Just find Shane," he mumbled to no one in particular, "M'sorry I came here. Didn't know…where else to go. Just need Shane. Just…just get Shane."

After that, Daryl drifted. There were a handful of markers that helped him keep track of the time. First, when Rick asked him how he'd gotten over here to begin with, and Daryl had haltingly explained that his dad had taken his truck, so he'd been forced to walk. Then, when Rick's mom sat by him for a long while. _We won't call the cops_, she told him, _and no one will touch you, so long as you drink some water, Daryl_. _Just drink the water, and take these painkillers, sweetheart. They'll make you feel better. We don't want to see you in so much pain._

And Daryl remembered when Rick's mom gave him some towels to sit on, and he suddenly realized how much blood had seeped onto the floor around him. He stuttered through a frantic apology, not quite awake even then, only remembering what _his_ dad had done the last time he bled out on the kitchen floor.

It couldn't have spanned more than an hour, maybe two. But the next time he was startled into consciousness, it was by Shane bursting through the front door, shouting his name. The relief he felt when Shane came into his field of view was palpable. He still had on most of his gear from the game. He was covered in sweat, eyes wild. But when he fell to his knees by Daryl's side, the younger boy fell into him just the same, sighing out his name like a benediction. "_Shane._"

"I know," Shane murmured into his hair, "I know, man. It's okay." He was being careful not to touch Daryl's back, and when Shane pulled back to look at him fully, Daryl could see Shane was as close to tears as he was. "We've gotta get you cleaned up. You shoulda let them help."

Daryl nodded, eyes still trained on Shane's. "Didn't want 'em to see."

"I know," Shane sighed. "I know."

His hand was on Daryl's neck, and the younger Dixon had the brief thought that the Grimes family _had_ to know now that he and Shane were…something. But he didn't have the energy left to be embarrassed, not when Shane's arrival had so abruptly righted his world.

Shane was working to get him to his feet now, with Rick's help. And Daryl kept thinking all the while that he'd never had anywhere to go, before, when things got bad. But now, Shane was willing and ready to put Daryl back together, physically and otherwise. And Daryl wasn't so sure how to cope with that. If he were in better spirits it might have made him uncomfortable. Right now, all he could feel was intense gratitude.

As Rick and Shane dragged Daryl over to the bathroom, Mr. and Mrs. Grimes caught sight of his back for the first time. The shirt was in ribbons.

Shane stripped himself and Daryl out of their clothing while running the water for the bath. There was a light knock on the door, and Shane opened it a crack to retrieve gauze and ointment from Rick's mom.

"This is gonna hurt," Shane told him, before pulling Daryl along with him into the bath. Daryl actually huffed out a laugh, at that. What didn't?

He didn't flinch much as Shane cleared away the blood, careful with the soft sponge, and intermittently kissing Daryl's shoulders and neck. Those painkillers Rick's mom had given him must have been heavy duty. That, or his body's meter on pain had run out for the evening. Daryl heard Shane mutter some curses as he revealed the damage.

"What happened?" Shane asked him eventually. "What…?"

"He didn't stop," Daryl whispered, "Usually he does, if I pass out. Ain't so much fun if I don't react, I guess. But he…he didn't stop. I thought he was gonna kill me this time. I really thought he would."

Shane wrapped his arms around him as best he could, without putting any pressure on Daryl's back. "But he didn't. You're here. You're alive."

It took a while for Shane to see to Daryl's back. Afterwards, he left Daryl sitting on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, on a search for some clothing for the both of them. Mr. and Mrs. Grimes had come in as he rifled through Rick's drawers for a shirt that could stretch over his impressive physique.

"Shane, we want Daryl to stay here tonight. We want the both of you to stay," Rick's mom began.

"Alright, thanks," Shane said, "I appreciate it. And Daryl ain't much of a talker, but he does too. I know he does."

"Tomorrow, we're going to have to talk about what to do next," Sheriff Grimes explained.

"He ain't gonna want to do that," Shane said pointedly, "Honestly, if he's feelin' at all better by morning, I'd bet money he'll be out the door before y'all even wake up."

"We hoped you would try to convince him not to do that," Mrs. Grimes said gently, "We won't force him to report this. And won't go and do it behind his back, either. But please, Shane. Make sure he understands that he's welcome to stay here. That we _want_ him to stay."

"I can do that," Shane said with a sigh. "I'll figure something out."

"Shane, do you know how long this has been going on?" Sheriff Grimes asked him.

"Since he was a kid. Seven or eight, I'd guess," Shane explained. "I'mma get back to him. Thank you both, seriously."

"Of course, sweetheart," Mrs. Grimes murmured, kissing him on the cheek before leaving him be. Mr. Grimes gave him a curt, understanding nod.

The Grimes had a spare bedroom downstairs, which was lucky, because Daryl was in no condition to go much further. Shane got him into the room and onto the bed, laying on his front with his face towards Shane.

"We're gonna stay here tonight," Shane told him. "And I don't want you runnin' off in the mornin', neither. Rick's folks are good people. They ain't gonna rat on you, if that's what you're worryin' about. So you and me are gonna stay here. Where you're safe. Alright?"

"Alright," Daryl mumbled, already half-asleep from a combination of exhaustion and the painkillers. "Thank you, Shane."

"Don't gotta thank me, man," Shane murmured, "S'what I'm here for. Just get some sleep." He carded his fingers through Daryl's messy locks, and it wasn't long at all before Daryl was out like a light.

As soon as he was sure Daryl wouldn't wake up, Shane tip-toed out to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Grimes had already gone to bed, but Rick was sitting up, waiting for him.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Rick asked.

"Yeah. He's a tough sonofabitch. And he's been through worse, I'm guessin'."

"I didn't see it," Rick sighed. "Known him for years, and I never fuckin' saw it."

"Yeah, me neither. Not 'til me and him were already…look, I need you to sit in on him for a while. Just an hour or two."

"Where are you going?"

"His dad took Daryl's truck, right? I'm gonna go get it. He ain't gonna sit still tomorrow if he wakes up and it's still missing. And his dad might be a sick fucker, but I know Daryl wouldn't want him to die in a car accident tonight. Better that I take that thing off his hands before he gets himself killed."

"Do you even know where to find him?"

"Well, there's only one bar in town. Figure it's my best bet."

Rick rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. "I….yeah, I'll watch him. Just be careful, Shane. Alright? Don't engage him or nothin'. Just get the keys and get out of there."

"I'm always careful," Shane said, shooting Rick a half-hearted smile. Fortunately, it was just convincing enough. Rick headed to the back of the house to sit vigil by Daryl's bed, and Shane trotted swiftly out the front door, features set in determination.

Rage had been bubbling through his system since Shane had listened to the first of Rick's frantic messages. Will Dixon wouldn't get away with this. Not again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"You sure you want this?" the boyish man asked Shane, seeming skeptical and concerned. And even though he was only a few years out of high school now, he looked much worse off, teeth going yellow and features sullen and defeated.

"I'm sure," Shane told him, taking hold of the baggie. "Thanks for comin' through for me. Short notice, and all."

"Anything for number 22, right?" the guy laughed brokenly. "The team's family."

"S'right," Shane said, "And by that, I take it you won't be mentioning this to anyone."

"Nah, man. Who I do and don't sell to's a private matter. You expectin' people to come askin'...?"

"No. Better safe than sorry though," Shane assured him. "Thanks again."

Shane headed out the door and in the direction of the single, lonely pub in their rundown town.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When Shane spotted Daryl's truck in the parking lot, strewn haphazardly over three spots, he knew he was in the right place.

There was a man decked out in leather and denim, with a good three decades on him, that had pulled in just as Shane arrived. He was only a few feet from the door, and Shane jogged over to cut him off.

"Hey, man. Hold up a sec."

"Waddaya want kid?" the man asked gruffly.

Shane held up several twenty-dollar bills in front of his face. "Just a favor."

That seemed to ease the man's sour expression. He licked his lips lewdly, "Oh yeah, what kinda favor?"

"You got a cell phone?" Shane asked him.

"Mmhmm," came the affirmative grunt.

"Alright. Imma go inside right after you. Now there's a guy in there who might ask me to come back out here, and start some trouble. All I want you to do is call the cops if he starts a fight."

The man narrowed his eyes at Shane. "I ain't no snitch."

"And this ain't snitchin'," Shane assured him, "Just helpin' out a friend. A friend who just bought you one hell of a night's worth of drinks."

Shane watched the man pocket the cash. "Yeah. Alright, kid. You got a deal."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane counted down from two-hundred before he walked through the weathered oak door. The paint was green and peeling, façade windowless and bleak. The old fluorescent lighting above the entrance which announced the venue as "BAR" now simply read "BA." And Shane read those letters again and again, forcing himself to breathe slow and deep.

He shoved the baggie up his jacket sleeve, gestured forwards a few times for practice.

Shane knew he couldn't fuck this up. No matter how badly he wanted to beat Will Dixon into the ground, fucking obliterate him, make him regret every time he'd ever laid a hand on Daryl, he had to keep himself together. Because Daryl was depending on him now, whether the younger boy knew it or not. He needed to do this right. He needed to do this smart. So that at the end of this fucked up night, Daryl could wake up with Shane next to him in bed. Daryl deserved that small comfort, at the very least.

When Shane finally quieted the buzzing of his blood, he stepped through the door to find Will Dixon as one of five patrons of the small establishment. Even on a Friday night, their town was small, and the population that might venture into a place like this was even smaller. Daryl's father was easy enough to spot, slumped over on a stool at the bar, with his jacket thrown haphazardly over the seat, and a shot of whiskey in either hand.

Will Dixon looked a mess, but Shane wasn't sure if that would make things better or worse. Trying to withhold the anger begging to be expressed, Shane took his time walking across the room. When he went to sit on the adjacent stool, he used Dixon's for leverage, being sure not to make too much of a show of it.

"You Will Dixon?" Shane asked, keeping his eyes forward.

The sorry excuse for a man beside him jumped a little, startled from his drunken daze.

"Whose askin'?" he slurred, throwing back the amber liquid in his glass.

"Just a friend," Shane replied tightly.

"Ain't no friend of mine," Dixon growled.

"I didn't say I was yours," Shane said slyly.

"What ya want then?"

"Came to pick up the truck," Shane explained slowly, calmly. "And to give you a ride home, as well. For the trouble."

"The fuck you mean you came for the truck. It ain't yours!"

"Yeah, but I think we both know it ain't yours either," Shane said in his most placating tone.

"Fuck if it ain't!" Dixon was getting riled now, but Shane kept his voice low.

"Look, the truck's coming with me either way. You really think Daryl wouldn't have a spare set of keys?" _A lie- but what would Daryl's bum of a father know either way?_ "So you can either come with me now, and get yourself a ride home, or you can walk. I don't care either way."

With that, Shane hopped up from the stool and hurried towards the door. He heard the scrape of metal on wood when Will Dixon went to stumble after him. As Shane swung the door open, he allowed himself to look back once, and only once, to be sure the asshole hadn't forgotten his jacket. The man in leather and denim met Shane's eyes, and Shane gave him a curt nod. A call to action. Before Shane stepped outside, he saw the man reach for his cell phone.

Shane made his way outside and to the middle of the lot, a spot illuminated by a single street lamp. Turning back towards the bar, he squared off his shoulders as Daryl's father approached.

Finally out of earshot of the men in the bar, Shane's cool façade crumbled, and was replaced by a leering grin.

"You're a sick son of a bitch, ya know that?" Shane taunted him. Will Dixon stepped into the light, hands twitching.

"The fuck you say to me?"

"I said you're a son of a bitch. Pathetic. A worthless piece of shit."

Shane saw the man take several decisive steps towards him, face contorted in anger.

"Bet you're too big a pussy to even hit me, huh? You gonna put down that purse and fight me like a man? Nah, course y'ain't. Look atcha. You're fuckin' scared—"

Shane was cut off by Will Dixon's right hook. It was powerful. Practiced. Shane could see, in that moment, why Daryl fought so hard to hide what his father was doing to him. The force of Will Dixon's fists was something to be feared. But not anymore; Daryl wouldn't have to fear this bastard ever again.

Stumbling back a step, Shane raised a hand to his face, licked away the dribble of blood from his mouth.

"What, that's all you got?" Shane laughed. It was enough to set Dixon right over the edge. He took Shane down in a tackle, fists connecting with Shane's muscular frame without mercy. Shane was sure the man had every intention of killing him. He smiled wider, coughing up the blood pooling in his mouth.

Shane's eerie calm only seemed to stoke the flames of Will Dixon's wrath. The teen didn't seem the least big frightened. Wasn't cowering away like Daryl often did, or begging him to stop. The elder Dixon punched him with all the strength he had, furious.

It was only a few minutes that Shane had to lay there taking it before he could hear the faint echoes of sirens in the distance. Daryl's father didn't seem to notice, much to Shane's glee. He was too wrapped up in his fit of rage. And Shane had to hand it to him, the man had stamina.

Shane gurgled and spit a globule of blood into the seething man's face. "Fuckin' pussy," he spat, still with that sick smile.

Dixon slammed his head back into the ground, making Shane's ears ring from the impact. He opened his eyes to find his attacker illuminated by red and blue, face finally settling into shock. Before he could launch himself off of him, Shane pulled him in by the collar. He jerked his head towards the front door of the bar.

"Smile at the camera, bitch," Shane drawled smugly. Dixon followed the line of Shane's eyes, and finally spotted the source of the younger boy's crooked smile. Just under the fluorescent sign that currently read "BA" was a video camera. An ancient one at that, but the red light underneath it proved it was operational. And it was pointed right at them.

"Freeze! Hands in the air!"

Two cops pulled Dixon off of him. Another led Shane over to the waiting ambulance, trying to get the details out of him. Shane forced his lips to quirk downwards, quivering a little.

"He just attacked me!" Shane exclaimed, "He wouldn't stop!"

From over where Will Dixon was being cuffed, Shane heard one of the cops announce, "Well lookee here! This ain't your average amount of methamphetamine. Nah, looks to me like you've been sellin', ain't that right Dixon?"

"That ain't mine! That ain't fuckin' mine!" was all Shane could decipher before the man was shoved into the backseat of the cruiser.

Shane heard the bartender giving his statement, "Kid offered him a ride home. Guy was drunk off his ass anyways, always is. But Dixon flipped a shit on him. Ain't exactly a surprise."

The EMT sorted out Shane's mess of a face, and the handful of, what she put it as, "defensive wounds" on his hands. Another cop came over to take pictures of him just as Sheriff Grimes pulled into the lot.

"Shane?!" he called out, jogging over. "Jesus, are you alright?" He grasped Shane by the shoulders, grimacing at the damage.

"M'fine," Shane said softly. "I'm fine, I swear."

"What the hell happened?"

"Just came to get Daryl's truck back. Give his Dad a ride home, so he wasn't driving drunk. I thought he was gonna take me up on it too, when he followed me outside. But then he just lost it…" Shane trailed off, "It was stupid, I know it was. But that truck just means so much to Daryl and I didn't think he'd want his Dad _dead_ and—"

"Shane, calm down," Rick's father said calmly. He looked the boy in the eye. "This isn't your fault, alright? I know you were just trying to help out your friend. Just wait over here, okay? We need to get a few more statements, sort out this crime scene, and then we'll both go back home. Talk to Daryl together."

"Okay," Shane said quietly, nodding his head. Sheriff Grimes stalked off, and Shane gave it a good ten minutes before walking silently over to the cruiser in which Will Dixon was cuffed. He slid into the front seat, waited for the man to meet his deadly gaze.

"Saw what you did to Daryl," Shane began. And when Dixon's mouth quirked in what was almost a smile, Shane felt that rage burning underneath his skin again. He swallowed it down. "You're never gonna touch him again, you understand me? Never gonna see him again. As far as I'm concerned, you don't know a Daryl. He ain't your son. Got it?"

Dixon chuckled roughly. "You can't keep me away from him. He's my blood. The boy needs me."

"No," Shane said with a dark smile, "He needs _me._ You, you're just a shitty memory. And soon you'll be even less than that. I'll take good care of Daryl, don't you worry."

It was all Shane was willing to say on the matter. He'd made a promise to Daryl, and he wouldn't break it. But the vague flicker of understanding and outrage on Dixon's face was satisfaction enough.

"I hope you die in prison," Shane said, before slipping out of the car and heading back over to Sheriff Grimes' cruiser.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It was the sound of his own truck pulling into the driveway that startled Daryl awake. He was up with a jolt, searching frantically in the darkness for Shane and coming up empty. Rick was still perched on the chair next to his bed, fast asleep. Daryl shook him roughly.

"Where's Shane?" he questioned desperately, feeling unreasonably panicked.

"He ain't back yet?" Rick mumbled, still half-asleep. And that had Daryl immediately on his feet. He rounded the corner into the living room just as the front door opened, and the sight of Shane stopped him in his tracks.

Shane was instantly moving towards him, speaking lowly to try to calm his panic before it started. It took a few seconds for Daryl to decipher his words.

"Daryl, I'm fine, alright? Everything's gonna be fine. Just sit down a minute, we need to talk."

Sheriff Grimes flicked on the light and sat down on the couch opposite them. Rick's mother emerged from the stairway in a bathrobe, to sit by his side. Rick sauntered in as well, and Shane guided Daryl down to the loveseat.

"What's goin' on?" Daryl mumbled, looking between Shane and Rick's father. His eyes trailed over Shane's injuries, and he bit his lip hard enough to split it. "My Dad do that to you?"

Out of view of the rest of them, Shane placed his hand on Daryl's hip, rubbed gently. "I went to get your truck, and offered him a ride home. He…well, he snapped."

"Daryl, your father is going to prison," Rick's Dad explained. "One of the bar patrons called 911 when he saw the fight. There was a security camera outside, so we have the entire thing on film. And when he was picked up, he had a hefty amount of methamphetamine on his person. We're talking aggravated assault of a minor, and possession with the intent to distribute. Any one of those things alone could means 20 years inside. But your father decided to plead down. He's going to serve the terms concurrently; 15 years with the chance of parole."

The room went silent, all eyes on Daryl as he slowly processed the information.

When he finally spoke, his voice shook. "So when are they coming to get me?"

Sheriff Grimes' brow furrowed in confusion. "Who?"

"Social services," Daryl replied. "My Dad and Merle were the only ones…and they're both inside now. So I gotta go to a home. Do I at least get tonight?"

"No one's coming to get you, son," Rick's father said soothingly. "At least, not unless you want them to. What my wife and I wanted to talk to you about was the possibility of you staying here, with us."

Daryl stared at them both blankly. "You…want me to live with you?"

"Yes, dear. We really do. But of course, only if that's what you want," Mrs. Grimes added.

Daryl worried his lower lip. "But…why? Y'all don't even know me."

"We know you deserve a chance," Mrs. Grimes said gently.

"And if our son vouches for you, then we can too," the Sheriff finished. Daryl looked to Rick, who was only smiling encouragingly. He leaned just a little more of his weight into Shane.

Daryl swallowed hard. "Y'all are sure?"

"We're sure," Mrs. Grimes assured him with a smile. "So what do you think? Do you want to stay here?"

Daryl glanced down at his hands, then back up at the room. "Yeah," he breathed, "Okay."

The Sheriff shot him a wide smile, "Great. We can talk more about the details in the morning. For now, you boys need to get some sleep. It's been a hell of a day."

He took his wife by the hand and headed up the stairs, with Rick just behind them.

Daryl was still sitting on the couch, wordless, processing. So Shane took him by the arm and guided him back towards the bedroom.

Shane stripped off his clothing economically, wincing a little as he stretched his sore muscles. But before he could lead Daryl over to the bed, the younger boy had pulled him into a tight hug, face buried in his neck. Shane could feel him trembling, just barely.

"It's okay, man," Shane murmured, "I'm fine, everything's fine. Just like I said it'd be."

Daryl pressed his forehead to Shane's shoulder, and pulled in a shuddering breath.

"Sorry," he muttered, but Shane wouldn't have that.

"Got nothin' to be sorry for, man. Today's fuckin' sucked."

Daryl let out gasp of a laugh. "No. M'sorry he did that to ya."

Shane sighed, one hand on Daryl's neck. "Wasn't your fault. You know that."

He let Shane pull him over towards the bed, but when Shane sat down on the edge, Daryl was abruptly on top of him, lips melded to his. True to form, Shane's dick responded before his head caught up, hard in half a heartbeat and barely concealed by his boxers. Daryl pushed him roughly onto his back, and began kissing his way down Shane's torso just an ounce too hard. But even the sting of it had Shane panting, moaning with every other breath as Daryl's tongue descended lower and lower.

When Daryl pressed a kiss to Shane's rigid length through the thin fabric of his boxers, two things happened at once. Shane's cock jerked in interest, and Shane pushed Daryl away in a rush, grabbing the younger boy by either arm.

"Fuck, Daryl, stop," Shane groaned, trying and failing at sitting up.

Daryl frowned at him like he'd grown a second head. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Cuz we ain't never done that, and—"

"You've done it plenty," Daryl pointed out, "S'just me that ain't given it a try."

"You're hurt," Shane said petulantly.

"So are you. Bet this'll make ya feel better. Just 'cuz I ain't never done it…"

"And you don't have to," Shane insisted, "I know you don't want to, and I'm alright with it. Just 'cuz today was fucked don't mean you gotta—"

"Don't tell me what I want," Daryl growled. "I don't do shit I don't _wanna_ do, remember? Just like you. And right now, I want you to shut up and let me suck you off."

Even in the low light, Shane could see the way Daryl blushed at his own words. His resolve wavered, cock hard as ever at the prospect.

"Yeah?" Shane asked him breathlessly, "Why don't you get up here and kiss me with that filthy mouth?"

Having some direction seemed to help, as Daryl instantly complied, carefully holding himself over Shane as they kissed. He pushed the older boy back against the pillows, propped up slightly to watch, and hastily moved back down to kneel between Shane's legs. He pulled away the boy's boxers, then stroked his cock up and down, a familiar motion.

Daryl settled on his stomach in front of Shane, with the older boy watching him fixedly, and tentatively swiped his tongue over the reddened head. More satisfying than Shane's muffled gasp was the fact that Daryl really didn't mind the taste. He lapped at Shane with kitten licks, enjoying the way his cock would jump each time.

"Fuck, Daryl…" Shane groaned, "You feel so good."

With that little bit of encouragement, Daryl pulled back and swallowed Shane's cock as far down as it would go. Shane choked out a surprised moan, both hands going for Daryl's head and gripping his hair hard. He bobbed slowly at first, dragging his tongue along the length of him the way Shane always had. The older boy moaned again through closed lips. Daryl could tell he was trying to stay quiet, but the fact that Shane simply couldn't had Daryl glowing with pride.

Daryl began to grind against the sheets in the same slow rhythm that he worked Shane's cock, both embarrassed and surprised that he was just as hard as Shane was. The jock's hands on his head didn't push, but noticeably twitched each time his cock met the back of Daryl's throat.

"Jesus, Daryl," Shane moaned, "Wanted this for so long. M'not gonna last."

And Daryl believed him. It was obvious enough from the way the boy was writhing, entire body rocking up to meet Daryl's mouth. Shane was making noises Daryl had never heard before, needful whimpers and groans. And the fact that Daryl had done that to him had the younger boy pulsing with want. His hips canted faster against the bed sheets, growing desperate.

"Love your mouth," Shane was moaning, "So good, you're so fuckin' good."

Daryl brought a hand up to follow the trail of his lips. He swirled his tongue around the head, tasting the salty bitterness.

"Gonna come," Shane announced with a gasp, "Fuck, Daryl…gonna come, gonna—"

He cut himself off with a moan, Daryl's lips leaving him just in time for Shane to shoot all over his own chest. And Shane was still coming in rough waves when he pulled Daryl up by his armpits, grasping his come-slick cock and stripping over the feverish skin once, twice, before Daryl was coming hard, back arching in orgasm as his whole body quaked.

He collapsed half on top of Shane, face pressed into the older boy's neck as his own cock ceaselessly twitched of its own accord. Daryl was asleep before Shane had even managed to clean himself off.

It too much longer than that for Shane to quiet his racing heart. He closed his eyes and relived the day's events, trying to search out that spark of guilt. But none came. If anything, the only thing he regretted was lying to Daryl. And even then, it was a lie by omission. A lie to keep him safe.

Shane reached with his free hand and fingered the raised lines peeking out from the hem of Daryl's shirt. They were all the reminder Shane needed that he'd done what was right. He was still tracing them when he drifted off.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Daryl Dixon was shit at waking up in strange places. It had taken him weeks of practice before he'd finally awoken in Shane's bed without that familiar bout of panic. And during those few weeks, Daryl had shoved Shane away from him, fallen awkwardly to the floor, and hyperventilated briefly against the wall more times than he cared to admit.

When he was young, he'd always wake up in his half-broken bed, or with Merle beside him. Sometimes it was both. But as long as Merle was there too, it didn't bother Daryl much if he came to out in the middle of the woods, or in some random guy's basement, or on a yacht. He'd run the gambit, but if Merle was in sight when Daryl opened his eyes, then he knew things were fine.

The first time Daryl had woken up without either of his stipulations met was the night after his mom had burned. The night commemorating his first beating. He never told Shane that part.

But really, Daryl couldn't control the way his body tensed to steel and heart took off like lightening when he woke up in a bed much too comfortable to be his own, head pressed against a pillow that was warm, and moving, and snoring slightly.

"Go back to sleep," came the immediate, displeased and sleepy grumble from the pillow beside him. Daryl breathed out a sigh of relief.

_Shane. Just Shane._

"Can't," Daryl murmured back, having to work harder than usual to pull himself up off the bed.

Shane cracked an eye open, "You hurtin'?"

Daryl grunted noncommittally, shrugging a shoulder and trying to appear blasé about it. "Ain't _you_?"

"'Course," Shane said seriously, finally sitting up himself. "Y'alright?"

There was a tense silence, during which Daryl could plainly feel Shane's eyes on the side of his face, before he quickly mumbled, "Will be."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

The social worker's visit was a dreary affair. She was a bustling woman with curls cranked to maximum volume, an ill-fitting blazer, and a briefcase that kept bursting open and spilling her files across the floor.

Her voice was a hum; a string of mismatched words that Daryl couldn't focus on. He didn't want to, mostly.

"In order to become Mr. Dixon's temporary guardians, you'll need permission of his primary guardian, and of the state—"

"He ain't gonna do that," Daryl interrupted, speaking up for the first time since she'd arrived. The adults in the room looked at him in surprise. "My dad ain't gonna give permission," Daryl clarified. "Ain't there some way around it?"

"And we don't want to be _temporary_ guardians," Mrs. Grimes added, taking Daryl by surprise, "Daryl can stay with us as long as he wants to."

"Unless you can provide evidence that your father is unfit as a guardian, then he still has some say in the process—"

"He's a criminal. Ain't that enough?"

"Unfortunately, no. As your father, he has power of attorney for you, and can decide himself who gets custody of you while he is in prison. So long as he chooses a competent adult, these types of rulings usually aren't questioned. Really, the only situation in which a judge might overturn it is if the un-incarcerated parent files a motion…but in your case…"

"So what do I gotta do?" Daryl sighed, getting frustrated. He really didn't want to recap this again. _Your mama's dead and your dad's in prison. You're basically an orphan._

"You would either have to convince him to sign over custody to the Grimes', or prove that your father is unfit as a parent. Though I should warn you that if you do the latter, he'll likely lose custody of you permanently. It's difficult to contest these types of things from inside."

"You got a camera?" Daryl asked. The woman eyed him in confusion, and Daryl felt Shane shift closer to him on the couch. The Grimes shot him a look of shock and solemn understanding. "Why, yes, but—"

"If he hurt me, s'been hurtin' me, is that enough proof for you? You people will leave me be?"

The woman stared at him blankly for a moment. And that moment felt enormous, elongated and wide and bursting at its seams. Because even though a handful of people knew what his father had been doing to him all these years, Daryl had never said it aloud. Not once.

_He hurts me. All he does is hurt me. Don't let him do it again._

"I—" the woman went speechless, for the first time since she'd arrived. "Yes. If you can prove it, then he'll lose custody. I'll make sure of it."

"Why don't we give Daryl some privacy?" Mrs. Grimes offered, apparently just for her son and husband's sakes. They clambered slowly into the kitchen while Daryl unbuttoned his shirt, and Shane helped him to peel back the gauze.

Daryl stood up, holding the woman's fixated gaze. "This is what he did to me before he got himself arrested last night."

He turned around slowly, keeping his eyes on Shane and only Shane while he felt the woman rise from her own seat, and move towards him. He was expecting the gasp, he really was. But the noise still made him grimace, face going red in some mixture of humiliation, anger, and determination.

"I—" she murmured again, at a loss for words. She seemed to want to say a lot of things. Probably tell Daryl how sorry she was that he'd gone through this, make promises that it would never happen again. To his relief, she instead only murmured, "Let me get my camera."

After that, her examination only spanned a few minutes. He trembled the entire time, hands fisted at his sides. Fleetingly, he hoped the pictures wouldn't come out too blurry. But the worry of that didn't much help with his shaking, only deepened his blush to a mellow burgundy.

Daryl had only ever allowed two people to see his back in its full, horrific glory. The second had been Shane, mostly out of necessity. The first was an ER doctor when Daryl was ten. _I fell down a cliff,_ Daryl had told her, _scratched up my back real bad on the fall, couldn't reach it myself_. It had been such an obvious lie, he thought. And the woman hadn't seemed the least bit convinced. But at the end of the night, she'd sent him right back home to daddy, escorted by two police officers. _It's state law, _she'd told him, _I'm sorry._

He couldn't remember if he'd replied to her out loud, or in his own mind, but Daryl certainly remembered the words.

_Me too._

When it was over, Shane was quick to usher him into the bathroom, change his bandages and get him somewhere isolated and quiet. He didn't say anything once they were alone, just waited for Daryl to show him what he needed. But he didn't need much, in the end. Just a curt nod and a pat on the shoulder before heading back out to face the world.

Later that night, Sheriff Grimes pulled him aside, after dinner.

"What you did today, that was incredibly brave," he told him, "And I don't want you to ever think otherwise."

He'd shrugged it off, and headed back towards the bedroom he and Shane were to share for the second night in a row. And Daryl was more than grateful that neither of Rick's parents had seemed to question that. Though he _had_ overheard Rick's mother ask Rick about it, before heading up to bed.

Rick had mumbled out something along the lines of, "They're friends. Good friends."

And that had been the end of it.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

The first night without Shane had been the hardest. He'd headed back to his own house, under the command of his mother, and left Daryl alone with the Grimes family for the first time.

He'd been hiding out in what was now _his_ room, when Mrs. Grimes popped her head in the door.

"Dinner in five," she said, giving him an expectant smile.

Daryl put down the book he was reading to look at her. "I'm fine," he replied cautiously.

She frowned at him. "Daryl, you _must_ be hungry. You didn't take the lunch I packed you today, and you hardly ate breakfast."

He worried at his lower lip. "I could get a job," was his abrupt offer, and Mrs. Grimes' frown turned from worry to plain confusion.

"Why would you do that?"

"To help pay for the food, an' everything—"

"_Daryl_," she cut him off, but with an understanding sort of smile, and a sad look in her eyes. "You're not a tenant here. You don't need to pay rent or pay for food. This is your home too, and I don't want you to feel bad about taking whatever food you want, however much you want, whenever you want. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now let's go eat."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Eventually, Daryl's body got used to having three square meals a day. The way Rick's mother fussed over him still made him uncomfortable, but not worrying about when he'd eat next was a welcome change.

The day after Shane left was a Saturday, and Sheriff Grimes drove with Daryl over to his old house to pick up whatever he wanted to keep, and help him sort out the rest. They'd taken Daryl's truck, at the younger boy's insistence. He knew Rick's dad didn't really understand why, but you couldn't just roll around his side of town in a cop's cruiser. They wouldn't be safe.

Once inside, Daryl tried to be as quick as possible. He hated the look in the man's eyes as he surveyed the danger zone that was Daryl's childhood home. But luckily, there wasn't all that much for Daryl to collect. He shoved some clothing into a trash bag, and grabbed his bow and spare bolts.

Daryl held the bow possessively when he returned to the living room. He wanted to be out of there already; the house was an embarrassment. Empty whiskey bottles and beer cans littered the floor, along with faded copies of skin magazines and cigarette butts that never made it to the ridiculous bikini bucket that his father had used as an ashtray. The only furniture was a broken down armchair and a TV on the floor opposite it. There were clear jars surrounding the chair, all half-filled with what the Sheriff surmised to be spit. Finally, he looked up at Daryl.

"Is it alright if I bring this?" Daryl asked him hesitantly.

The Sheriff cocked an eyebrow, "You know how to use it?"

"Yessir."

"For hunting, I assume."

"Mmhmm."

"You do that for sport?"

Daryl paused a beat. "S'food."

Rick's dad nodded mostly to himself. "Alright. You promise not to use it in the house, in the neighborhood for that matter, and you can take it. I trust you. Just make sure you don't keep it loaded."

And that was probably the first time he'd seen Daryl smile.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane was over every other night, but on the nights he wasn't, Daryl kept to himself. He'd chat with Rick briefly at the breakfast and dinner table- mostly one-worded answers: the Dixon special- but generally just hid out in his room. It wasn't his family, and he didn't want to intrude.

Rick only stood for a week of this before knocking obnoxiously loud on Daryl's closed door just after dinner that night.

"Yeah?" from inside.

Rick swung the door open. "Come play Mario Kart with me."

Daryl gave him a skeptical look. "Never played before."

"That's okay, I'll teach ya. But it's more fun with some else, so _c'mon_."

_Fucking stubborn Grimes men._

"Yeah, okay."

They walked out to the living room, where Rick's parents were sitting up against each other on the couch, both reading. Daryl and Rick plopped down on the floor in front of the TV, and Rick rather excitedly showed him the basics.

An hour passed by before either of them knew it.

"Yer cheatin'!" Daryl accused.

"To hell I am, you just suck at this!" Rick replied with a laugh.

"It's my first time!"

"Yeah, well it shows."

"Yeah, well screw you Grimes. Gonna eat your words."

"Aw, you're all talk."

"Quit runnin' me off the damn road!"

"I wouldn't have to if you'd quit bein' a baby 'bout it."

"Call me a baby one more time, see what happens," Daryl spat, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"Oh, and now he's pouting too. You're a sore loser, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Well pushin' buttons ain't much of a game. Oughta see how you'd do on a real road."

"No one's racing any cars," Mrs. Grimes interjected.

"Aw c'mon mom," Rick griped, "My reputation's on the line."

"Listen to your mother," Sheriff Grimes announced distractedly, eyes never leaving his book.

"You heard the lady," Daryl mocked, shooting Rick a triumphant smile.

"Jerk."

"Dick."

"Boys!" both Grimes' voices echoed.

After that, Daryl didn't hide out in his room anymore. After dinner, he'd hang around in the living room with the rest of the family, playing video games or watching TV, or sometimes just reading. There was something comfortable about it, albeit foreign, and Daryl fell into the routine quickly.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Shane noticed the change faster than anyone.

It was a slow process. Incremental, over the few weeks Daryl had lived with the Grimes. But each time Shane saw him, the truth became more and more obvious.

Shane wasn't the only one who could make Daryl smile, anymore.

And even though he was happy for Daryl, and he really was, he never expected that realization to sting quite so much.

Rick and Daryl had inside jokes now. They'd chuckle conspiratorially, even when Shane was present, and tease each other over incidents he hadn't been present to witness. Rick spent just as much time with Daryl as Shane did now, and even when Shane came over, it wasn't quite the same. His visits weren't just about him and Rick anymore; and he and Daryl were never quite alone.

If Shane really put any thought to it, the honest source of his frustration was probably his perpetually blue balls. Ever since that first, desperate time, Daryl hadn't let Shane get much further than kissing. And even then, he'd only let the older boy touch him with the door practically barricaded, and their clothes firmly _on._

Daryl didn't feel comfortable leaving the Grimes' house overnight yet. He'd been offered a home, and he figured it was plain insulting to neglect it for his dick's sake. And Shane didn't hold that against him, but the wait was becoming maddening.

They'd had the conversation more than a dozen times.

"C'mon, Daryl. I want you."

"Shane, stop. Can't do this here."

"Then come to my place."

"I…can't. Ya know I cant."

Rick and Daryl broke into another round of laughter, referencing some movie they'd watched the night before, and Shane finally snapped. He stood abruptly from the table, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor.

"Goin' to bed," he ground out, already out of the room.

And he'd only paced the length of Daryl's bedroom twice before the archer himself appeared at the door.

"Y'alright?" he asked, almost shyly, and in the softer version of his voice that nearly always made Shane's aggression melt away.

Not this time, though. "M'fine," he spat.

Daryl stepped the rest of the way into the room, closing the door behind him. "Yeah? 'Cuz ya don't look it."

"S'that right? Well why dontcha go chat with your buddy _Rick_ about it?" Shane growled, immediately embarrassed by just how juvenile he sounded.

Daryl huffed incredulously. "S'that what this is about?"

"Dunno what you're talking about," Shane replied stubbornly.

"Need to hear me say it ? 'Cuz I will," Daryl said firmly. He waited for Shane's eyes to meet his. "S'like you said in the beginning, I ain't lookin' at every guy that passes my way. Just you. So quit bein' a dick."

Shane sighed, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. "I know I'm being nuts. I know it."

"You are. And you know as well as I do that Rick's straight as a board."

"Coulda said the same thing 'bout you a few months back," Shane said with a small grin.

"And ya best keep on sayin' it if ya know what's good for ya," Daryl said lowly, with an exasperated smirk.

Shane approached him slowly, resolutely, walking Daryl backwards until he was pressed up against the closed door.

"Shane…"

He slotted his knee between Daryl's slightly parted legs, and ran a hand down the younger boy's torso, making him shiver.

"Now I don't believe for a second y'ain't needin' this as much as I am." He provided the slightest amount of pressure against the boy's growing bulge, and Daryl groaned lowly.

"We can't—"

Shane cut him off with his mouth, consuming him with tongue and lips, going deeper and wetter until neither of them could breathe properly anymore. All the while, he snaked a hand between them to pop open Daryl's faded jeans. With a flick of his wrist, he had Daryl's straining cock in hand. It only took a few strokes to get the younger boy panting.

"Fuck, Shane, fuck…" he whispered.

Shane shushed him close to his ear, "Gotta be quiet, Daryl. Think you can do that for me?"

He twisted his palm just so, and Daryl moaned against his mouth. Shane was grateful in that moment for Sheriff Grimes' obsession with the Longhorns. If not for the game blaring in the next room, they'd certainly have been fond out by now.

"S'been a long time for both of us, hasn't it?" Shane crooned, "But look how bad you're needin' this, man. Look how wet you are for me."

He bit down on the column of Daryl's neck, sped the pace of his fist, and Daryl cried out sharply before being silenced by Shane's mouth again.

"Do I need to gag you?" Shane teased when he pulled away, "No, not a gag. Not now, at least. You just need to come, don't you Daryl? You want me to make you come?"

"Yes," Daryl gasped, surprised that he could even put that coherent of a thought together when his world was spiraling as it was. "Yes, Shane. _Please_."

"So good for me, Daryl," Shane murmured as he sunk to his knees, and pulled Daryl's jeans down with him. "You're mine, aren't you? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have you."

A slick finger circled at Daryl's entrance, and his legs shook precariously. Shane pressed open-mouth kisses up and down Daryl's straining cock. "Say it, Daryl."

"No one else, fuck, no one- I'm yours, Shane- I can't- oh fuck, please," came the string words groaned all at once. But it was enough, because then Shane's fingers were crooked inside of him, and his mouth was dragging up and down Daryl's rigid length, memorizing the feel of him.

And since Daryl had been denying himself this for weeks now, it took embarrassingly little to set him over the edge.

"Shit, oh shit Shane, don't stop," he moaned. Daryl was close, so close, and he just needed—

Shane's tongue swirled around the crown, dipping into the slit.

"Oh god," Daryl groaned, hips pushing forwards into Shane's mouth, and boring down against his talented fingers. "Just like that. Just like that, Shane, _yes._"

Suddenly, it crested. Daryl cocked his hips and pumped forward, moaning Shane's name deep and soft before pleasure took hold of his muscles, careening him off that cliff of want and into Shane's knowing hands.

Daryl didn't go falling the floor, but that was only by Shane's doing. And it was just a half-second more before Shane was on his feet again, whipping his aching cock out of its tight, denim confines, and wrapping Daryl's hand around him.

Shane pressed his hand over Daryl's, forcing them to stroke together.

"Fuck, Daryl," Shane groaned, rutting into the tight grip.

And when Daryl had finally gotten his words back, he whispered, "Yeah, Shane. C'mon. Give it to me."

Shane's head fell to his shoulder in a gesture of uncharacteristic submission, and allowed Daryl to work him unguided. Both his hands fisted in Daryl's shirt.

"I know how bad you need it," Daryl told him, and Shane bit down on his lip hard. "Lemme see you come, Shane. Lemme see you come for me."

And with that, Shane shouted his release into the crook of Daryl's neck, mumbling curses in the aftermath and letting Daryl take charge of keeping him standing.

"Just 'cuz shit's changed, don't mean we've gotta," Daryl said softly.

If Shane could have gasped in a full breath, he would have wholeheartedly agreed.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Happy Friday!**_

**Chapter Eleven**

Daryl's boots had survived hundreds of hunts, multiple fights with Shane, and dozens of beatings from his father. They'd made it unscathed through snowy winters and balmy summers, muddy creeks and brimming rivers. His boots had survived more than a year and a half as _Merle's_ boots, kicking ass and taking names and otherwise just causing a ruckus.

But one misplaced nail, and Daryl's reliable old boots were done for.

He glared at them in dismay. The rotting scrap of metal had pierced straight through the sole, and ripped it away from the binding leather when Daryl had attempted to take his next step. It was about as destroyed as a boot could get, and it pissed him off to no end.

Daryl hopped into his truck with crossbow in tow, figuring that while this was an annoying problem, it was one he knew good and well how to fix.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

The first sign of concern came from Rick, leaving voicemails for Shane, and both his parents respectively, asking where Daryl had run off to after school. They'd developed a pretty firm routine in the few weeks since Daryl had moved in permanently, one that the younger Dixon hadn't deviated from even once. So when Rick waved goodbye to Daryl in the school parking lot, only to find himself sitting alone at home two hours later, he started to worry.

And when dusk rolled around, then dinner time, and Daryl still hadn't returned, worry became blatant panic. Sheriff Grimes sent out a notice to all the on-duty cops in his district, with a description of Daryl and his truck. And Rick's mother was on the phone, calling just about every parent from the high school, when Shane burst through the front door still in his football gear.

No one had seen Daryl. No one had heard from him. Aside from the handful of books and discarded t-shirts in his room, he had all but disappeared.

Shane called Daryl's cell just about every fifteen minutes. Every call went to voicemail, and Shane left him messages just as often. They varied wildly from distressed to angry to pleading, depending on the athlete's frame of mind. But they were consistent in that they all begged Daryl to come home, call home, _anything_.

The quartet stayed up all night. Rick and Shane took turns rolling around the neighborhood, sometimes shouting out Daryl's name as if he were a stray dog, only needing the proper motivation to find his way home. Sheriff Grimes bounced back and forth between the house and the station. He checked the local hospitals. The morgue. His cop's brain told him that it hadn't even been 24 hours yet, and that Daryl wasn't _missing_, per se. But his parent brain overrode that knowledge, driving him into a frenzy as he listed out for himself all the ways he'd failed Daryl Dixon, and all the horrible things that could be happening to him right now.

The night was filled with the sound of Sheriff Grimes' radio scanner, and his walkie-talkie going off intermittently for updates. No one slept; and after a while, no one spoke much either, unless it was to offer another locale where Daryl might have been hiding out.

Early the next morning, the rumbling groan of Daryl's beat-up truck never sounded so sweet. The family went clambering out of the house in a dash, stopping in their tracks when Daryl jumped out of the vehicle covered in dirt and blood. Shane was the first to collide with him.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Shane said in a rush, "Are you hurt? What the _fuck_, Daryl? Where were you!?"

There were more questions, all coming at once but resonating the same. Daryl stared at them all, baffled, as Mrs. Grimes finally put a stop to it and quickly ushered him inside. She stepped in front of him, honing his attention.

"Daryl, I…" she choked on her words, seeming fairly close to tears in a way that had Daryl even more confused than before. "Are you alright, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"

Daryl looked down at his ensemble, making the connection. "Shit, no. S'not my blood—"

"Are you in trouble?" Rick's father interjected, "Because you can come to us with that, you _know _you can—"

"I'm fine!" Daryl very nearly shouted, "Christ, I ain't in trouble, what's—?"

"Daryl," Rick interrupted him, "Where have you been? We've been looking for you all night, man. We thought something happened to you."

"Why the fuck didn't you pick up your phone?" Shane growled.

"Or tell anyone where you were going? _Where were you_?" Mrs. Grimes reiterated.

Daryl blinked twice in bewilderment, eyes darting between the four angry, relieved, confused faces.

"I uh…I just…I needed new shoes," Daryl finally said in a faint voice. He paused, and the tension was palpable. "I ain't got a lotta money, but there's this guy I know up in Senoia, who'll pay me for meat. Took all night to track down the buck, and dress it. Came right back here after I made the trade."

Daryl looked helplessly between their faces, watching understanding belatedly reach them. He curled his arms into his chest protectively, biting at his lip. It figured that he'd managed to fuck this up too, and _quick_, like he was an expert at it or something. Staring down at his feet, Daryl braced himself for whatever type of pain was bound to follow.

"M'sorry. I didn't mean to…didn't think you'd…" Daryl cut himself off, at a loss for words, or any kind of explanation.

Mrs. Grimes was the first to recover, moving abruptly to sweep him into a tight hug. Daryl froze at first, expecting a blow far more than something affectionate, but eventually allowed himself to relax into it, and process the words flowing from her mouth.

"Oh, sweetheart. We were so worried. I'm so glad you're alright."

She repeated the words over and over, all variations of just how happy she was to have Daryl home safe. Because she wouldn't yell at him for this. Not now, when the teen had made it so painfully clear that he believed not only that they wouldn't care if he didn't come home one night, but that they wouldn't _notice._ Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, and she squeezed him tighter, ignoring his slightly muffled grunt.

When she finally released him, Rick's father stepped in to clap a hand to Daryl's shoulder.

"Son, I know that we haven't been the best about setting ground rule for you, and part of that is because they haven't seemed necessary until now…but you need to understand, if we don't know where you are, we're going to worry. A lot. It's part of the territory. And it's fine if you want to go hunting or go over to Shane's, but you need to tell us first."

"I…I can do that," Daryl mumbled.

"And Daryl, please don't ever hesitate to ask us for things. If you needed new shoes, you could have just told us, and we'd have given you the money. I know it's not…what you're used to, but it's the way things are now. Okay?"

Daryl nodded with his lip between his teeth. "Yeah, okay."

Rick's parents shared a soulful look, before Sheriff Grimes announced. "Alright, you three. It's been a long night. Let's all get to bed."

Later that morning, before drifting off, Daryl lay with Shane curled possessively around him. He could feel the tension radiating off of the older boy's body.

"I didn't think they'd…"

"Yeah. You didn't think," Shane spat, before taking a deep, calming breath. "Man, I know you ain't used to people givin' two shits about you, but that ain't the way things are anymore. You got people who care, and you can't be fuckin' around with us like that."

"S'hard," Daryl whispered, "Keep remindin' myself, but…"

"I know it is, man. It's bound to be."

"I didn't mean to make y'all mad."

"Not mad. _Worried_."

"That too."

"Yeah, well, I figure you've learned your lesson. Right?"

"Mmhmm," Daryl mumbled in the affirmative, burrowing further into the pillow. "I'm…m'tryin'. Swear I am."

"I know you are," Shane murmured into his neck. "It's fine. It's all fine now, just get to sleep."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

With no school that day, Shane woke up sometime after noon, hard as a rock from the growing warmth of the sleeping boy next to him. Ever since Daryl had come to live with the Grimes', this was the part of the day that Shane liked best, the part where he had Daryl all to himself.

Shane pulled his arm out from underneath Daryl's body, figuring it would wake him. But when it didn't, Shane grinned as an idea struck him. He reached an arm slowly around Daryl's waist and palmed the younger boy's morning wood through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Daryl let out a fast gush of breath, still very much asleep, and Shane had to fight not to moan aloud. It wasn't often that he woke before Daryl, and even more seldom that he managed to touch him without Daryl waking with a start. Feeling confident, Shane pushed his hand into Daryl's boxers and wrapped his fist around the hot length.

Stroking slowly, Shane pressed open-mouth kisses over Daryl's shoulders and neck. The boy was already wet, leaking over his hand, and hips moving in small motions to seek out the incredible friction. But it wasn't until Shane started rocking along with him, grinding his throbbing member into the soft globes of Daryl's ass, that Daryl came awake with a low, confused moan.

The moan quickly became a whimper, and when Shane sped up his hand, Daryl gasped and shook. He'd never woken up this close to coming before.

"You like that, Daryl? You like it when I touch you?" Shane was immediately rasping in his ear. "Does that feel good? I make you feel so good, don't I Daryl?"

Sensing how close the other boy was to losing it completely, Shane clamped his fist tightly over the base of Daryl's cock, prompting him to groan deeply.

"Not yet," Shane whispered against the back of his neck, "Turn on your front for me."

He felt Daryl's body tense, but only slightly. "Why?" came the younger Dixon's response, after a beat.

"Trust me," Shane urged him, rather than disclosing his plans.

But true to form, Daryl begrudgingly rolled to his front, relaxing to some degree when Shane began to slowly kiss down the length of his back. When he reached his prize, Shane pulled apart the firm mounds of Daryl's ass, breath scorching over his puckered entrance.

"Shane?" was Daryl's immediate, distressed whisper.

"Trust me," Shane murmured again, smiling when his exhaled breath had Daryl shivering from head to toe.

The first lick was anything but tentative. Shane may not have done this before, but between the videos he'd seen online and the fantasies rolling around in his head, he had a pretty good idea of where to start. Shane swiped his tongue long and forcefully over Daryl's entrance, once and then again, before swirling the hot, wet muscle in circles. It didn't take long at all before the tension eased from Daryl's body, and Shane was able to slip inside.

But when he did, the younger boy keened a sinful sound Shane had never heard from him before. Somewhere between affronted and aroused, but desperately curious. Of their own accord, his hips ground down against the bed sheets, and back against Shane's tongue. Abruptly, Shane pulled him up onto his hands and knees, never stopping his sensual assault. The change in position allowed Shane to delve deeper, and Daryl only moaned louder, oblivious to anything but the pleasure shooting up and down his spine.

Daryl's cock was an angry, throbbing red underneath him. Bobbing with the slow movements of Shane's tongue and begging to be touched.

"Shane, please…"

But as soon as the words left his lips, Shane's torturous touches vanished.

Daryl let out a frustrated groan, "_Shane_, why'd you—?"

He was pulled to the side before he could finish the thought, Shane's head back on the pillow and hands attempting to manhandle Daryl into some god-awful position.

"_What_?" Daryl huffed, and Shane's eyes glinted something dangerous.

"Sit on my face," he demanded a bit breathlessly.

Daryl frowned at him. "The fuck? _No._ I ain't doin' that."

"You liked it. I know you did," Shane reasoned, reaching over to Daryl's erection and thumbing the slick head. Daryl's thighs shook, as did his resolve.

"M'not like that, m'not…"

"What ain't you like?" Shane murmured, "You don't like it when I touch you? Don't like it when I make you come so hard you can't see straight? Now we both know that ain't true."

Daryl whined in frustration, bucking against Shane's teasing digits.

"Lemme make you feel good, Daryl. Lemme give that to you. _It's just us_," Shane reminded him, "Now get up here before I make ya finish yourself off."

Still glaring at Shane indignantly, Daryl allowed the older boy to maneuver him onto his chest, propped precariously on his knees and feeling unduly self conscious. Fortunately for them both, when Shane's tongue resumed its attack, Daryl's reservations left the building. He moaned and dropped forward, suddenly very aware that from this angle, he could easily be laying face first against Shane's cock.

And since at this point it wasn't Daryl's first rodeo, he didn't have to think much before pulling the throbbing length into his mouth. What he lacked in finesse, Daryl made up for in enthusiasm. And soon it was blatantly obvious that Shane was about as hair-trigger as he was. Daryl picked up the pace, taking Shane deeper and flicking his tongue over the sensitive head. Shane's response was electric.

The jock moaned high and long, rocking up to meet Daryl's mouth in desperate little motions. But the vibrations of Shane's moans are what did Daryl in. The tongue stroking inside him was so warm, and wet, and writhing, and suddenly _quivering_ as well…

"Fuck, Shane!" Daryl groaned as his own cock erupted untouched, streaking white over Shane's chiseled chest. Still trembling with the aftershocks, Daryl thrust a shaking hand over Shane's needy member, fist flying over slick skin until Shane shouted out his name and came with a jolt.

Come still pulsed out of the reddened tip when Daryl finally rolled to his side, exhausted.

"Fuck," he sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Good fuck?" Shane questioned.

Daryl huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. S'ppose so."

At that, Shane vaulted on top of him, pulling the blankets back over their bodies and claiming Daryl's lips in a wanting kiss.

"Shane, are you- _what the hell_?"

The door swung open unceremoniously, and Lori stood open-mouthed in the frame, glaring. She spun on her heel and stalked away before Shane could gather the brain cells for an explanation. Nothing; not even an '_it's not what it looks like._'

He was on his feet and pulling on his sweatpants in a heartbeat, rushing to go after her.

"Shane," Daryl whispered, sitting up in bed now and pulling the covers up to his neck.

"It's fine. I'll take care of it," Shane told him hurriedly, already on his way out the door. "Just stay here."

He jogged out the front door, cutting Lori off before she could reach the door of her car. "Lori! Hold up a second."

She whipped around, "_Why_?"

"'Cuz m'askin' ya to," Shane replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Look, what you saw in there…"

"I know exactly what I saw."

"Ain't sayin' ya didn't," Shane countered.

"I can't _believe_ you Shane. Letting that hick turn you into something you're not," Lori hissed. "You're not _gay,_ Shane."

"No, I'm not. And neither is he."

Lori barked a dubious laugh. "Sure. You just make out with all of your buddies."

"He ain't my buddy either, Lori. Not everything's as simple as that. Ya don't gotta be a bitch about it."

"Don't I? I'm just being a friend, Shane. I can't watch you ruin your life like this."

"And how the hell is this ruining it?" Shane growled, "Are you honestly that jealous?"

"Jealous?!" Lori practically shrieked, "I have nothing to be jealous about."

"Oh c'mon, Lori. Don't think I'll forget that easily. You turned _me_ down. Long before you and Rick were a thing. And just 'cuz I didn't say nothin' to him when you came onto me drunk a few months back don't mean I don't remember."

"Of course _that's_ how you remember it," she scoffed.

"What other way is there?" Shane spat, extending his arms out from his sides. "You tried to cheat on my best friend, with _me,_ and I turned ya the fuck down_._ Ain't no other way around it. But lemme be clear 'bout this Lori- if you say anything to anyone about me and Daryl, Rick's gonna be finding out what happened that night."

"You…you wouldn't do that," Lori replied in a quieter voice, seeming unsure.

Shane actually laughed at that. "Who the hell are you kidding? Of course I would. Thought ya knew me better than that." He turned to walk back into the house. "M'dead serious Lori. Watch yourself."

A car door slammed behind him, and Shane slammed the front door for good measure. When he returned to Daryl's room, the younger Dixon was dressed and braced against the headboard. His crossbow was laying across his lap, and Daryl was stroking it absentmindedly while he waited. Shane figured that bow was probably that closest thing Daryl had to a security blanket.

He shut the door gently and slid into bed alongside Daryl. As soon as Shane was at his side, he realized that Daryl was shivering noticeably, whole body tense.

"Daryl," Shane murmured, pulling his into a loose hug which the frightened boy didn't return. "Jesus, you're shaking. It's alright, man. She ain't gonna say anything. I took care of it."

"Ya don't _know_ that," Daryl whispered harshly, "She never even liked me much before. And now…"

"Now, nothing. She ain't gonna say nothin' if she knows what's good for her. I promise you, Daryl. Hey," he took Daryl's chin in hand, "Trust me."

It took a moment, but Daryl's baby blues searched Shane's eyes, and seemed to find what they were looking for. He nodded and sighed gruffly, rubbing his palms against his forehead.

"S'all fucked up," Daryl mumbled, and Shane tried not to take offense.

But as always, his mouth got the better of him. "Man, I don't get it. Your dad's in jail, Merle too. So who is it you're so fuckin' worried is gonna find out about us? You that ashamed to be with me?"

"Shane, it ain't like that. Not everything's about you," Daryl spat.

"Then what is it, then? Explain it to me. 'Cuz it's been weeks upon weeks of this shit and goddamnit, no one's _forcing_ you to be with me—"

"_Shane_," Daryl cut him off. "It ain't about you. It's about me. Fuck," he sighed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I've got a good thing going here, ya know? I don't want to fuck it up."

Shane's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "The hell you talkin' about? We're fine. I ain't about to ask ya to prom or somethin', I just wanna know—"

"For fuck's sake, Shane. It ain't us. It's _me_. You think the Grimes are gonna stand for some faggot livin' here rent free? I ain't their blood; they could kick me out whenever they want. And I can't fuck this up, Shane. Can't go back to one of those homes, I—"

Daryl was working himself into a panic, and Shane was quick to intervene.

"Daryl, shh," Shane soothed, pulling him in close and rubbing a hand roughly over his back. "You really think Rick's folks are like that? They _care_ about you, man. I promise. And they ain't gonna kick you to the curb for bein' with me, or some other guy, or a hooker for that matter. I'm tellin' you, they just want you safe. Happy. Same as me."

The younger Dixon sucked in a shuddering breath. "You…you really don't think they'd kick me out?"

"I know they wouldn't. They ain't nothin' like your dad, alright? And anyways, I'm pretty sure they already know about us. Or at least suspect."

Daryl shot up in alarm. "They what—?"

"_Relax_," Shane growled, "C'mon, they have to know by now. How many teenage boys have sleepovers every other night? Share a bed?"

"But…" Daryl bit at his lower lip, "They ain't said nothin'."

"'Course they haven't, 'cuz they _don't care._ Listen to me, alright? They care about you. That's all ya gotta know. They wouldn't kick you out for being with me."

Daryl nodded mostly to himself, staring off at the wall behind Shane. Eventually, he refocused, seeking out the older boy's chestnut eyes. "You're sure?"

Shane shot him a small smile. "Known them my whole life, Daryl. I'm fuckin' positive. Now let's go get some breakfast before I starve to death."


End file.

Walking Dead, Hurt-Comfort, Romance